


Satellite

by lettersinpetals



Series: HQ News [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Bottom Miya Atsumu, Broadcast Journalist Sakusa Kiyoomi, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealousy, LGBT discrimination, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Model Miya Atsumu, Murder, Non-Explicit Sex, Social Media, Top Sakusa Kiyoomi, background Kita Shinsuke/Ojiro Aran - Freeform, just implied, no smut though, past miya atsumu/kita shinsuke, they are both off-screen, this was difficult for me to write, you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals
Summary: Meian clapped his hands. “Sorry, Sakusa-kun, but there’s no one else we could send for this. You’re to interview Miya Atsumu tomorrow for his upcoming film.”His brows furrowed. “Miya Atsumu? The model? In a film?” Who allowed that?“Yes. It will be his acting debut. And it’s for an Ennoshita Chikara film, too, it’s kind of a big deal.”“Seriously?” That guy was an award-winning director. “What strings did that Miya guy pull to get the role?”--In which broadcast journalist Sakusa Kiyoomi was assigned to interview model Miya Atsumu who bagged the lead role of an upcoming, highly-anticipated film, and thus, two worlds collide.(This is a standalone fic.)
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou & Miya Atsumu, Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Oikawa Tooru & Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: HQ News [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947268
Comments: 181
Kudos: 1203
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics, SakuAtsu Fics, fics i want to remember, ~SakuAtsu~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is standalone fic, so it's not related to Cigarettes After Sex. I just apparently lack originality and could not think of another name for a broadcasting company, so HQ News it is. Also, I might turn this into an entire series of unrelated newsroom AUs. Anyway, I've shown you what it's like to be an online reporter, now let me show you what it's like to be a television reporter. IT'S SO MUCH WORSE. Oh, and this fic might treat certain topics irreverently, so I hope you're not thin-skinned. (This is set when Abe was still Japan's PM, just...go with it.)

The biometrics beeped when he ran his thumb over the machine, and he immediately smacked a hand over the alcohol dispenser beside it. It was 5:45 a.m. on a Wednesday. His week has officially started.

He walked through the busy halls filled with colorful props, which will serve as sets for the ongoing morning show. It was May, so a lot of them were cherry blossom-themed. After weaving around the researchers running around like headless chickens, he entered the newsroom, which wasn’t faring much better. People were already hurrying around, passing around scripts, preparing for the next newscast.

“Morning, Sakusa!”

He blinked at his cousin, Komori Motoya, who was lounging on a desk chair.

“You’re early today.” Komori’s shift usually began late afternoon. “Coverage?”

“Last night,” Komori answered. “Haven’t slept, haven’t gone home. I attended some red carpet thing that went on until like, 2 a.m. this morning. They’re airing it in a bit.”

He nodded and sat on the empty computer chair of Inunaki Shion, one of their senior producers. Kiyoomi didn’t really have a desk in the newsroom, since he was hardly ever there. “And what are you assigned to do today?”

“Don’t know yet.” Komori muffled a yawn with his hand. “Waiting for Meian to tell me. But hey, you ready for our interview? We haven’t worked together in a while.”

Frowning, he mentally ran through his pending assignments and came up blank. “Interview? I only have a presscon today at the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“Oh, I guess they haven’t told you. Er, you’ll see.”

“Morning, Sakusa-kun,” their managing editor, Meian Shuugo said, stepping into view. “Perfect, you’re still here, Komori-kun.”

“What’s this about?” he asked. He’d come here expecting the usual storycon, not a surprise project. He was already displeased. If he was working with Komori, then it was something entertainment related. He hated those. He was hardly even assigned those anymore.

“Well, you already know your main assignment for today, the Abe presson at 10 a.m. Naturally, we’ll broadcast that live, and you’ll do a standupper for the flash news report after. We’ll air your full report on the 3 p.m. program. But send your script as soon as possible, because we need you here in Shibuya by that time. There’s a rally that some kids are organizing. Sorry, you’ll have to do overtime.”

“Alright.”

“Now. Oikawa has been on leave, as you know. Which is why Komori has been taking the brunt of the entertainment news.”

He didn’t know that, actually. He and Oikawa Tooru, their entertainment correspondent, were not really close, and these days they barely crossed paths. Komori is not a TV reporter, he’s a senior producer who works behind the scenes, often with Oikawa. Even senior producers tagged along on coverages sometimes, especially when they’re big events. But Komori must have been doing all the work lately, tapping other TV reporters to record the voice overs for the reports.

“Komori, Bokuto Koutarou is holding a press conference later this afternoon, kindly attend. It’s for some new show, I’ll send you the details.”

“Copy,” Komori replied.

And then Meian clapped his hands. “Finally — sorry, Sakusa-kun, but there’s no one else we could send for this. You’re to interview Miya Atsumu tomorrow for his upcoming film.”

His brows furrowed. “Miya Atsumu? The model? In a film?” Who allowed that?

“Yes. It will be his acting debut. And it’s for an Ennoshita Chikara film, too, it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Seriously?” That guy was an award-winning director. “What strings did that Miya guy pull to get the role?”

“Hey, don’t be so quick to judge,” Komori protested. “I’ve met Miya once, he was pretty courteous, if a bit difficult to control. Kind of cocky, too, but you can’t really be mad at him for it.”

“But does he have the talent? Sounds like a big project for a first film. Maybe it’s for the star power?”

“Probably not,” Meian said. “Because his co-star is Kita Shinsuke, and that guy’s plenty famous. His appearance alone will be enough to get people to troop to the theaters.”

“Huh.” It made even less sense to him now.

“Anyway, it’s not just some random interview that you’ll be squeezed into after some event. They granted us two whole hours, here in headquarters. Don’t know how you managed to book that, Komori, but we obviously can’t waste the chance, so we’re making a production out of it. Sakusa, you’ll do a one-on-one sit-down interview in Studio 6.”

Well, no wonder they tapped him. You don’t just hand out big sit-down interviews to any TV reporter, especially not to junior reporters. If Oikawa was on leave, then Kiyoomi really was the next best thing, if he did say so himself. After all, he was good enough to anchor the weekend evening newscast.

At 30, anchoring was an unbelievable achievement. He was too young for it — compared to veterans, he was a scrub. He’d only been in the industry for eight years. But he liked to think he earned it anyway. Just like he earned the promotion to senior correspondent two years ago.

But Komori would just say it was because of his impenetrable poker face.

“Give your initial questions to Inunaki later because Miya’s handler is asking to review them. I don’t have to tell you to do your homework, do I? Komori will also be with you tomorrow,” Meian said.

“Okay,” he sighed. It wasn’t like he could refuse. He did what he had to do.

“Wonderful. Let’s get this day started.”

\--

His coverage went without a hitch, even though it always felt like he was injected with adrenaline every time he had to do a live report. There was often a technical delay in the audio feed, an unavoidable pause between their anchor Ushijima Wakatoshi’s questions and his answers. It always took all of him to keep his composure so he doesn’t look dumb on television, because he knew that to viewers’ eyes, seconds ticked by without him uttering a word.

After the headache-inducing rally that evening, he hopped back in the HQ News van and asked the driver to take him back to headquarters. Once he timed out — at 8:12 p.m. — he made the 15-minute trek to his two-bedroom apartment in Shibuya.

By the time he reached his unit, he was highly aware of the tension in his shoulders, the throbbing in his head, and the layer of sweat under his clothes. He yearned for a bath. But hunger has made itself known now that the adrenaline has passed, so he heated a meal that he’d prepped over the weekend and turned on the television.

Bat habit, really. He’d been living and breathing news since he reached his 20s. Now he was unable to turn himself off.

Thankfully, their evening newscast was over, giving way to a documentary series from their Public Affairs department. Sometimes he hosted episodes for them, too. He mindlessly listened to it while he ate his dinner.

He tried not to fall asleep when he finally, finally relaxed in his tub, exhaustion crashing on him. He stared at the bathroom tiles and thought, not for the first time, _I’m getting too old for this_.

But he wasn’t, not really. Many stay in the industry until retirement age, so he had decades to go still.

He was tired just thinking about it. But it wasn’t like he wanted to do anything else in his life.

He thought he was pretty settled. He had everything figured out. He was living his dream job. He didn’t earn much at all in the first few years, but he suffered through it and it paid off. His salary increased annually, and he had a hefty raise when he was promoted. Not to mention he had overtime pay, hazard pay and clothing allowance from the company. He was never one to carelessly spend money on himself, and it wasn’t like he had anybody to spend on.

Financially, he was good. Career-wise, he was great.

He wondered if that was it.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he pulled himself out of the tub. He peeled off his contact lenses, did his skincare routine, put on his glasses then dragged himself from the bathroom and into his desk.

And then he Googled Miya Atsumu.

He knew him, of course. Everybody did. But he actually only shot to fame recently.

Upon checking, Miya has been modeling since he was 18 years old, but only fully entered the industry after graduating from university — he had studied drama and music, to Kiyoomi’s surprise. He’d modeled for local brands for the first few years, but when he reached 22, he started getting picked up for international brands — Calvin Klein, Giorgio Armani, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Ralph Lauren. That was actually around the time Kiyoomi started becoming aware of his existence. His face started to get more and more familiar, and even started getting attention from other countries.

When he was somehow handpicked to star in a music video for an international artist, that was when the craziness truly started. That just happened last year, and now, at the young age of 24 years old, Miya was _everywhere_. He had Vogue covers. He had Calvin Klein billboards. He had television ads. He had _5.6 million_ followers on Instagram.

And people loved him because he was supposedly down-to-earth. He threw up peace signs. He poked his tongue out. He winked, he grinned; he was often playful, and sometimes silly.

But why the venture into film?

He supposed he would find out tomorrow.

Rubbing his temple, he started typing down the questions to send to Inunaki, which will be forwarded to Miya’s camp. He gave only vague ones, because what did they think they were, a PR agency?

Job done, he closed his laptop and got ready for bed, preparing to live another endless day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm often at the company headquarters by 6 a.m., it really is an explosion of noise and music and color. It's fun when you're just the passerby trying not to get run down by the panicking people lmao. There are also often random celebrities just loitering in the halls, waiting for their turn to be interviewed. We just ignore them.


	2. Chapter 2

He stepped into Studio 6 to find it in utter chaos. People were buzzing around like tired gnats, tapping on their phones, snapping at interns.

He knew why. Miya’s handler did not give them enough of a headstart for this big a production. He was certain at least half of the people here have not gone home to sleep, while the other half had just been dragged from their daily routines to see through the interview.

Someone from their online department was likely thrown here to write a feature, an unofficial photographer was probably called in a panic to take official photos, and he was pretty sure that those stressed-out kids in the corner were from the social media team, feverishly discussing how they were going to promote the interview in HQ News’ pages.

Komori rushed over to him, carrying papers. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Again.

“He’s already here,” Komori hissed, sounding ragged. “He got here _earlier than you_ , oh my god, I have been calling and calling you, his handler’s already pissed. Celebrities are supposed to always be late, damn it. This is embarrassing.”

Embarrassing, indeed. Kiyoomi _wasn’t_ late — in fact, he was early, the shoot wasn’t going to start until the cameras and set were ready, and they didn’t _look_ ready. But it was always good form to at least be there to greet and entertain your interviewee. This was already shaping up to be a headache.

“I was being prepped in the dressing room,” he informed Komori. “Lead the way.”

They walked towards the set, avoiding the big cables and wires taped on the floor, and pausing to give way to a man carrying a reflector.

“Did you get the script for the spiels yet?” Komori demanded.

“No.”

“Oh God,” Komori moaned.

“How many days did you get to prepare for this?”

“Two.”

Damn. That’s even worse than he thought. No wonder everything was chaos. He’d stepped into a flaming mess.

“Komori, we better pull this off.”

“We will,” Komori insisted. “We always do. Have some faith, we’re still the best of the best.”

Just then, the set came into view and he spotted Miya Atsumu sitting on one of the two couch chairs. He was gazing around in idle fascination, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers intertwined. The man who must be his handler was standing behind him, looking displeased.

Before he could call out a greeting, someone called his name. It was Hinata Shouyou, one of their researchers, and he was running towards him.

“Sakusa-san,” Hinata wheezed, handing him some papers. “The banned questions. And the script for the intro and extro.”

He took them and scanned through them quickly. “I would have appreciated this last night, Hinata-kun.”

“Sorry, sorry.” In a whisper, Hinata said, “They just returned the list early this morning.”

He felt a prick of irritation. “It’s alright, I’ll adjust.” He waved the kid away, and stepped towards Miya, who was looking right at him.

He greeted, “Miya-san. Apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Miya stood to greet him and grasped his hand, maintaining eye contact. “Just Atsumu, please. And we were early, it’s fine. Tsukki just needs to chill.”

He turned his attention to Tsukishima Kei and gripped his hand in a firm handshake, meeting his gaze with an ice cold stare. Making it clear whose turf they are in now. Kiyoomi did not appreciate snotty handlers who treated everything as a personal inconvenience. They were in _the_ HQ News, in the presence of one of its esteemed broadcast journalists. This was not Buzzfeed. This was not Cosmo. He figured they needed the reminder.

Tsukishima averted his gaze and stepped away.

“Hinata-kun, why don’t you show Tsukishima-san where he can sit,” Kiyoomi said mildly.

Hinata popped back in and led the man away.

Kiyoomi gestured to the couch chair. “Sit, please.”

Miya — _Atsumu_ obeyed, looking at him wide-eyed.

Komori deemed it safe to approach Kiyoomi and attach the wireless lapel mic onto his suit. “Thanks,” he whispered. “He was stressing us out.”

“How long until showtime?” he asked.

Wincing, Komori said. “Another fifteen minutes. That’s final. Ish. You have fifteen minutes to memorize and practice the intro spiel. We’re taping that first.”

“I’ll revise my questions first,” he sighed. “Got a pen?”

Komori handed him his own and disappeared temporarily. He sat on the other chair, and said, “If you could wait for a few more minutes, Atsumu-san —”

“It’s fine, really, no problem at all,” Atsumu said quickly. 

Well, he was being more agreeable than Kiyoomi was expecting. Good, because Kiyoomi’s stress levels were steadily rising. Any other time and he would be engaging the interviewee in small talk so they’d have an easier time of getting into a flow once the actual interview started. But there simply was no time today. The only saving grace was that the whole thing will be taped, not broadcasted live. They were allowed retakes.

He dug out his index cards and placed them on the coffee table along with the list Hinata handed him. He started crossing things out and scribbling new questions. It was a good thing he was thorough in his research last night, clicking on every existing article available, even going through Atsumu’s social media accounts. He reviewed Inunaki’s Line message on what topics he hoped would be delved into, and cross-checked everything.

Komori returned then. “Sakusa, mic test.”

He obediently droned, “Mic test, 1, 2, 3…”

After deeming it fine, his cousin went over to Atsumu to attach his own mic and test it.

By the time they were done, Kiyoomi was practicing the introduction out loud, and memorizing it simultaneously. Someone approached and started running a makeup brush on his forehead and nose.

“Sakusa, put a bit more life into your voice,” Komori scolded. “You’re not anchoring, this is for showbiz.”

“Then maybe you should have tapped someone else for this,” he couldn’t help but snap back, anxiety spiking.

“I’m actually surprised, I was expecting Tooru-chan, not the weekend news anchor,” Atsumu said. “Not that I mind.”

He ignored them and focused on the script. He softened his voice, made it friendlier. He could never pull off being fake cheerful, so he settled for a genial approach. It was going to have to be good enough.

When he thought he was good, he started forcing himself to relax. He blinked, trying to recenter his contact lenses and breathed, trying to recenter himself.

The minutes started going by very fast. Komori was explaining to Atsumu the flow of the shoot, saying that Kiyoomi will be asking follow up questions in addition to the initial questions they’d initially sent them and Atsumu just shrugged. Kiyoomi had a feeling it was more the handler who was red-taping things. They tended to do that. Especially to celebrities who can’t keep their mouths shut.

He was starting to feel a little bit of personal curiosity. Perhaps there was more to Atsumu than what he’d been led to believe. If he played his cards just right, he could unwrap that.

“So, do you do this often?” Atsumu asked him out of nowhere, watching him with curiosity he didn’t try to hide.

“Interview people?” he deadpanned.

“Interview celebrities,” Atsumu clarified, rolling his eyes a little. “How come I never met you personally until now?”

“I don’t, this is not my field. But Oikawa is apparently on leave.”

“Oh. Lucky for me then.” Atsumu winked at him.

He raised an eyebrow. Was the kid _flirting_ with him? He decided to ignore him, returning his attention to his new questions.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be paying attention to me,” Atsumu said. “After all, I am your interviewee. Sakusa Kiyoomi, right? I know you. How’d you get into broadcasting?”

 _Anyone with a TV should know me_ , he didn’t say. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions, Atsumu-san.”

“You get to do that later,” Atsumu insisted. “Hey, are you single?”

Kiyoomi stared at him, speechless in disbelief and vague irritation. He gave Komori a look to where he was standing beside the cameramen, snickering into his hand. Naturally, he could hear everything.

So could the cameramen, actually, because the lapel mics were feeding the audio straight into the earpods they were wearing. How mortifying. This Atsumu guy was turning out to be a pain.

And then finally, everyone was in place. The cameras were all set up, and everyone stilled and hovered around the set. Komori said, “Cameras rolling. Anytime, Sakusa.”

He shifted on his seat and faced the camera Komori was pointing at.

“Good evening, viewers.” It was actually morning, but it was going to be aired in the evening. “Tonight, we have a special guest. You see him on billboards, you see him on magazines, you see him on the runway, and for the first time ever, you _will_ be seeing him on the big screen. Ladies and gentlemen, Miya Atsumu is in the house.”

There was a pause as he waited for the signal. Komori said, “Let’s do a second take.”

And on they went. After three takes, they were able to proceed with the actual interview. 

There wasn’t anything special about it at first. As much as he wanted to avoid questions that have already been asked before, there were those he simply had to, for the record. So he had to go through all that, pretending to be wholly interested in what Atsumu was saying, even though he already knew the answers.

But despite himself, it didn’t take long before he got caught up in Atsumu’s rambling. He was all boyish grins and conspiratorial looks, and despite having never met Kiyoomi before, he acted like they were old friends. He’d say things like, “Oh god, did you know the other day, my twin finally told our mother who really broke the antique vase,” and “I simply can’t stand the smell of car freshener, could you? Could you? And that’s why I got motion sickness.”

Atsumu eventually revealed that acting was the original dream, which was why he studied drama and music. But he was scouted by an agency when he turned 18, and he couldn’t turn it down.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, get used to the spotlight, maybe build my name, but I didn’t anticipate the toxicity of it all.”

For a split second, Kiyoomi paused. This was not in his list of questions. But he grabbed the hook, because how was he supposed to resist? That was a lead. “Could you tell me more about that? What was toxic about it?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my job,” Atsumu said, waving a hand. “Really, I do. But it can be very — demeaning? Sometimes. I mean, everything about my appearance is constantly being monitored and picked on. My hair used to be dark, they decided it was better blonde. They keep picking on the bit of baby fat on my cheeks. And some of the meaner veterans would tell me to stop dreaming of getting into the film industry, because people would never take a model seriously. And people would tell me to get facial surgery or — whatever. But that’s just something I have to live with. That’s just the reality of it. It’s cruel, not everyone can stand being in it.”

Kiyoomi had to admit he never even considered all of that. He was guilty of the not-taking-him-seriously part, and he didn’t expect Atsumu to be highly aware of that.

But there was something else that Kiyoomi wanted to know. He was truly paying attention now. “How did all that affect you? You’ve lived with that for over six years now, and as one of the country’s top models, you probably have it worse than most.”

Atsumu met his intense stare. “Well,” for a beat he hesitated, then he said, “I did struggle a bit with depression for a while back there. Okay, a lot, I struggled a lot. The worst of it was probably when I was about 20, and I would bash my head against a wall to make myself sleep. I had to take time off everything — school, modeling, _everything_. It made it worse because I thought I was going to get off track, that I’ve lost my future. But I did bounce back eventually. I was sent to a mental facility.”

Kiyoomi was studying his face, trying to look for the kid who was so haunted in the mind that he felt the need to hurt himself that way. “And how are you now?”

“Better,” Atsumu said earnestly. “I mean, everything kinda sucks. I can’t eat good food. I can’t drink nice drinks. I’m not allowed many, many things. But I chose this life, and it’s just going to get worse than this. But also better. I hope.”

“All this for fame?”

Atsumu shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Then why did you want to be famous?”

Blinking, Atsumu hummed. “Let me think for a sec. No one asked me that in a while. People usually just ask _if_ I want to be famous, not why.” He shifted on his chair, making himself comfortable. “I guess I didn’t want to just blink out like a light. I wanted to streak across the sky like a shooting star. I want people to remember my name.”

Kiyoomi nodded slowly. He thought he understood that, a little bit. He said, “Depression is not something you can just cure, though, as much as we want that to be the case. Do you still struggle with it?” He was totally off-script now. Sorry, Inunaki, but this might just be a scoop.

“I kinda slip in and out of it,” Atsumu mused. “It’s weird...you know when you go deep, deep into the ocean and you’re kicking and trying to keep yourself afloat, and it’s kind of hard to breathe, but you have to keep your head over the surface? Sometimes it’s like that. And sometimes I remember, I can just float. And that’s easier but I kind of feel like I’m drifting, all alone. And that a current can carry me away, anytime. So some days I’m struggling, and some days I’m drifting. But it wasn’t like before, when I was drowning.”

The words touched something in Kiyoomi, who’d struggled with mental health issues himself, when he was younger. Still struggles, sometimes. “Why not get out of the ocean then? Go back to shore.”

Atsumu grinned, suddenly and unexpectedly, and for some reason, Kiyoomi didn’t feel like he was prepared for that.

“But where's the fun in that?”

And Kiyoomi couldn’t help but smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, actually producing shit like that interview? A NIGHTMARE. You simply must feel sorry for every single person in that room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Social media posts coming through!

It was just one interview. One interview in the thousands that Kiyoomi had conducted in his eight-year career.

He didn’t understand why the world was suddenly paying attention now.

They had aired parts of the interview two nights after it was conducted. Kiyoomi watched the segment from his home, because he didn't work overtime for once.

When his Twitter started pinging with endless notifications, he didn’t think twice about checking them. At first he was confused. And then he eventually learned that it was all Atsumu’s fault.

**_Miya Atsumu_ @miyaatsumu**

Oh my god I think I’m in love

That was posted on the day of the interview. And then, he’d apparently also posted a tweet earlier today.

**_Miya Atsumu_ @miyaatsumu**

Guys, tonight...you will see Him

Alarm bells were ringing in his head as he watched his follower count, which had been at a decent 182,000, steadily rise.

And then Komori called. When he picked up, all he heard was laughter.

He sighed and massaged his head. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”

Komori caught his breath. “I thought it would be funny. Also I thought it was nothing. I didn’t think _this_ would happen.”

“Is he completely shameless?” he demanded.

“Apparently,” Komori chuckled. “Were you completely unaware that the kid had a crush on you? I think I witnessed the moment he was shot in the heart. You know, when he first saw you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Don’t worry,” Komori said, mildly apologetic now. “It will pass. It always does.”

It did not pass. It only got worse. Because the following day, they released the entire interview on their Facebook and YouTube so they could monetize it.

And once again Miya Atsumu was everywhere, but now _he was, too_.

People seemed to be praising him for how he’d conducted the interview, managing to get Atsumu to open up and be candid about his depression. Apparently, he’d never discussed it openly in depth, and now everyone was finding Atsumu relatable and somehow more human than before. He was right, it was a scoop.

But now people were also digging up all his past reports, some of which were cringe-worthy, making them viral. Buzzfeed even made listicles titled “10 times Sakusa Kiyoomi proved that journalists are hot” and “All the times Miya Atsumu and THAT REPORTER sparked chemistry in THAT INTERVIEW.”

He knew there was a reason he _loathed_ Buzzfeed.

His office group chat exploded in laughter, and they had a jolly time sending screencaps of hilarious tweets and links to articles that involved him.

Meian finally messaged the chat, saying, “For the love of god, address it already. We can’t ignore all this free PR! We need to ride on this, I’ll get SMT to make a funny post.”

Oh god.

Taking a moment to question all his life choices, he finally sent a tweet to his now 500,000 followers.

**_Sakusa Kiyoomi_ @sakusakiyoomi**

You’re all paying attention now, huh? Only took you guys 8 years and one shameless model/actor. Now that you’re here, don’t forget to tune in to HQ News on weekends, 6 p.m. 

> **miyaatsumu** @sakusakiyoomi cold, Omi-kun
> 
> **sakusakiyoomi** @miyaatsumu Don’t call me that.
> 
> **miyaatsumu** @sakusakiyoomi Omi-Omi?
> 
> **sakusakiyoomi** @miyaatsumu No.

**_Miya Atsumu_ @miyaatsumu**

AHHHH HE’S TALKING TO ME

**_HQ News_ @hqnews**

Date a journalist. We break news, not hearts.

[Photo: It was a half-body shot of a suit-clad Kiyoomi outdoors, holding a microphone with ‘HQ News’ plastered on it, a finger pressing an earpod to his ear, staring straight at the camera, unflappable.]

> **sakusakiyoomi** I hate you guys.

**_Miya Atsumu_ @miyaatsumu**

I’M DYING. HEAVEN, TAKE ME NOW

Despite everything, he still followed Atsumu back. It seemed rude not to.

\--

Kiyoomi did the weekend evening news with two of their older anchors, Sugawara Koshi and Sawamura Daichi. The company operates on a skeletal workforce on weekends — there were only three newscasts compared to their usual eight: one in the morning, one at noon, and one in the evening.

It was actually rather laid-back. Not much happened on weekends, unless there happened to be a catastrophe or a high-profile death, so they weren’t that strict about air time. Sometimes they even end up broadcasting a few minutes before schedule. Everyone just wanted to go home.

Tonight, however, everyone seemed to be putting in more of an effort. When he asked why they were taking so long styling him in the dressing room, the makeup artist giggled and said, “Because all eyes will be on the show tonight. Particularly you.”

And just like that he was reminded of his newfound popularity and he internally cringed. Why did he tell everyone to tune into the show again?

Once he was in the studio, they directed him to sit in the middle seat behind the desk, which was usually Daichi’s spot. His fellow anchors gave him smarmy grins.

“Don’t even mention it,” he told them, straightening the papers he was given. It was the lineup of tonight’s reports.

“If you say so, Sakusa-kun,” Suga sang. “Or should we call you _Omi-kun_?”

He and Daichi laughed like the evil people they truly were. They only _seem_ nice.

The floor director directed him to start the program and started counting down. He fixed his eyes on the teleprompter in front of him.

At the director’s signal, he began, “Good evening from HQ Weekend News, I'm Sakusa Kiyoomi, good to be with you…”

It all went rather flawlessly. He’d only been doing this for a year, but it’s become routine. A stressful routine, but a routine nonetheless. But then things took a turn when they reached the last segment, which was almost always about entertainment news.

The problem was that Kiyoomi had gotten into the swing of things, automatically reciting the words from the teleprompter, so his brain wasn’t able to catch up with his mouth fast enough when he was reading:

“And now for showbiz news, model-turned-actor and my suitor Miya Atsumu —”

He stopped abruptly, staring at the teleprompter. There was silence in the studio. Then he demanded, “Who wrote this, why is that on the screen?”

Suga and Daichi started cracking up, and so did the cameramen and the other people on set. The program manager, Yaku Morisuke, was cackling loudly.

“Seriously...where’s the actual script,” he said, starting to feel actually stressed. Did he just call Atsumu his suitor on live television? He glared at Suga and Daichi beside him, who didn’t seem to be inclined to help him out. “You people are terrible, I’m going to resign.”

Suga grasped his forearm, still wheezing. “Nooo, we’re sorry Sakusa-kun, we tried to tell you but you told us to shut up.”

“You were going to do no such thing. That’s it I’m going impromptu,” he said, quickly shuffling the papers in front of him on the table and scanning the summary of Atsumu’s story. He looked back at the camera and said, “Model and actor Miya Atsumu, who is _definitely not_ my suitor, has begun filming for his upcoming movie with Kita Shinsuke…”

As the report aired, he thought he’d get a break to pull himself together. But after the details about the filming was reported, there was a quick interview with Atsumu. At first he was just talking about how excited he was to work on the film, but then the producer — _Komori_ , the traitor — commented, “I heard you’re crushing on one of our own.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but mutter, “Oh no.” Daichi snorted.

Atsumu answered, “Oh, yes. I’m pretty sure it was love at first sight. I’ll get him one day, I swear. But he hasn’t reacted to the flowers I’ve sent over to HQ News.” Then he pouted.

Komori laughed and the report wrapped up, and then suddenly, the feed was back on them. His co-stars were eagerly waiting for him to react, grinning.

Kiyoomi stared back at them, before cluelessly asking, “Flowers?”

Suga and Daichi just started laughing again.

He looked at the camera and back to his co-anchors and admitted, rather annoyed, “I have no idea what’s happening.”

Finally, Suga looked at the camera, grinning, and said, “Atsumu-kun, I am sorry to say that Sakusa-kun did not, in fact, receive the flowers, because he is hardly ever here at the base.”

“I believe the desk people put them on water, though,” Daichi added.

Kiyoomi finally straightened. “And apparently no one thought to inform me, thanks for that.” 

Suga and Daichi were laughing again so he looked at his papers and then back at the teleprompter. There was only one report left. “Alright, it looks like I’m doing the rest of tonight’s show. Premiering next week is Bokuto Koutarou’s new series...”

\--

After the show, he finally dropped by the newsroom again. Last time he’d been here, he was told he was going to interview Miya Atsumu. That was just four days ago.

There on Inunaki’s desk, where he usually sat on the rare days he was here, was a wilting bouquet of flowers in a vase.

He crept closer. Beside the vase was a sealed envelope which had “To Sakusa Kiyoomi, from Miya Atsumu” written at the back. He opened it to see a note that had a cellphone number on it and the words, “Call me, Omi-Omi!”

He pocketed the note, and walked back out.

He left the flowers behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I butcher Kita's character once again so he can be a plot point...sorry. I love him, really...

The hype died eventually. Komori was right, it always did.

But Atsumu’s interest did not. He sent flowers every week. Inunaki had started informing him when he realized they were going to keep coming. After weeks of this, Inunaki rang him up and snapped, “Get them off of my desk, damn it!”

Kiyoomi, who was walking as fast as his legs could allow, trailing his cameramen who were running after an embattled company’s spokesman, said, “I’m kind of _busy_ here.”

“Tell him to stop! I have no room for a goddamn _vase_ on my desk, I have piles of scripts and press releases here!”

“Throw the damn flowers away,” he said, exasperated. He started jogging, wincing when his leather oxfords squeaked. “Actually, just stop accepting them. I have to _go_ , I lost my fucking cameramen.”

“Are you still chasing after the spokesman?”

“ _Yes_. Good _bye_.”

That afternoon, he staggered back to headquarters, feet aching, darkly vowing to buy more comfortable shoes. He timed out at the biometrics machine, not bothering to drop by the newsroom, and was on his way out the building when he crossed paths with Oikawa.

“Yoohoo, Kiyo-chan!” And _there_ was a nickname even worse than Omi-Omi. Oikawa slung an arm around his shoulders when he caught up to him. “I haven’t seen you in _ages_.”

Displeased, he disgustedly pushed the arm off. “You’re still alive, then. I’d wondered.”

“Why is everyone greeting me with that?” Oikawa whined. “I was on vacation for all of three weeks! I hate you guys.”

“In news time, that’s a lifetime.” So many things had happened already. The speed of the news cycle always messes with their time perception. There was a reason they all felt old.

“True,” Oikawa agreed. “For example, I simply couldn’t believe when I heard that Atsumu-chan is in love with you now. I had way too much fun watching that interview, maybe we should host a talk show together!”

“No, thank you,” he said flatly.

And then Oikawa rounded on him and gazed at him seriously. “You know, Atsumu is a good guy.”

“A good kid is still a kid.”

“Is that what this is about? He’s 24, he’s an adult. In fact, he’s turning 25 in a few months. He can make his own decisions.”

“Not informed decisions — he’s clueless, he knows nothing.” He remembered when he was 24, thinking he knew everything, only for the years to prove him wrong.

“Argh, you’re too damn cold. Come on, I feel sorry for the guy, he’s been asking me about you since I got back to work. Can’t you throw him a bone? Don’t you like him even a little bit? I saw how you looked at him in that interview.”

He ignored the last part entirely. Instead he demanded, “He's got you on his side, too?”

“Well, we _are_ friends, you know,” Oikawa said. Kiyoomi figured that — Oikawa, due to the nature of his job, is friends with a handful of celebrities. News reporters had sources; Oikawa had famous friends. The connections made his job easier. “And he seems genuine enough! I have never seen this level of obsession from him.”

“He’s just a kid with a crush. Give it time, it will fade.” He was sure of this.

“This is hopeless,” Oikawa sighed. He started waking away, but called over his shoulder, “One day, someone will crack that wall of yours. And I’ll be hoping that it’s Atsumu-kun!”

That night, he picked up the note and studied it. He’d done it so often that he had Atsumu’s number memorized already.

But Kiyoomi did not date. He’d tried before, but he’d quickly realized it was too troublesome. People wanted easy things the fastest way they could get it: sex, affairs, flings. But he was not built that way. It took a while for him to adjust to people, and he didn’t appreciate when they decided they were done waiting for him and walked out of his life. It was a waste of time. He hated wasting time. Sometimes he’d give in and allow himself a one-night stand, but he always felt disgusted with himself after.

He had always been a committed person who was willing to give a lot of himself for the things he loved. His work ethic speaks for itself — he had been in the same company since he was 22 and fresh from college. He grew up there, and _will_ continue growing up there, until it was time for him to retire. He did not know how to quit. He barely knew how to rest. It was always all or nothing for him.

Atsumu fascinated him, sure. Hell, he might even admit to being attracted to him. But Atsumu was a celebrity. Worse, he was a _young_ celebrity at his prime, and Kiyoomi was settled at 30. Atsumu’s world turned even faster than Kiyoomi’s, dictated by trends and passing fancies — all of it temporary. What did he know about building things that will last?

Atsumu was streaking across the sky like he’d always wanted. He’ll burn himself into the world’s memory, but in a blink of an eye he’ll be gone. Kiyoomi was never going to keep up with him.

Even though a long-buried part of him burned to try.

\--

Time flew by. Spring turned to summer, autumn turned to winter. Miya Atsumu turned 25. This he learned through his social media posts, which news outlets picked up. The birthday bash looked fun, though it seemed nightmarish to Kiyoomi.

The New Year arrived, and naturally, Kiyoomi was still on duty that day. He was used to it. Come spring again, he turned 31. This he spent alone. He was used to that, too. He marked another year at HQ News. He won the title of best newscaster at some point. It was the sixth award he’d gotten in his entire career. He didn’t count the award-winning documentaries he’d hosted — if he did, he’d lose count.

And then, come August, he was handed a letter. “It’s an invite to the premiere of ‘Spiral,’ you’re going,” Meian said.

 _‘Spiral.'_ The much-anticipated Ennoshita Chikara movie starring Miya Atsumu and Kita Shinsuke.

He looked at the letter then back up at Meian. “Why not send Oikawa?”

“Oh, he’ll be there. At the red carpet, with the other press. That’s an invite inside to the _actual_ film premiere. Miya Atsumu sent it. You won’t be there as press. You’ll be a guest.”

His eyebrows shot up. Atsumu had stopped sending flowers after a month. He’d stopped retweeting Kiyoomi’s segments on Twitter and tacking heart emojis on them. He’d stopped mentioning Kiyoomi in interviews. As Kiyoomi predicted, Atsumu had lost interest.

He didn’t predict this, though.

“Why do I have to go?” he asked, mystified.

“One, because it’s rude not to, we can’t burn bridges with important people, Sakusa. Two, because it’s a good opportunity to network. Honestly, I’d rather send Oikawa, but it’s specifically addressed to you. You have to RSVP. It’s two Fridays from now.”

God, it’s another ‘take one for the team’ moment. “Fine. But I’m not passing through the red carpet.”

“No problem. Use your clothing allowance to splurge on something nice. Now, shoo. Get to work.”

He followed the order, but he spent the rest of the day (and night) thinking about Miya Atsumu. He was a familiar presence in the corners of his mind.

\--

The movie premiere was set to start at 8 p.m., although celebrities went earlier than that so they could frolic in front of the cameras on the red carpet. Kiyoomi had no interest in that whatsoever, so he sneaked in through the back at exactly 7:50 p.m. He drove himself there and handed his keys to the valet.

He got double-takes from the few celebrities who chose to enter the same way, but he ignored them. He’ll have time for networking later, first he had to get inside.

He entered and immediately tried to track down Atsumu. That was the most courteous thing to do — the invite did come from him. And he was the only person he knew here, ignoring him would be unprofessional and rude.

It looked like people were already settling down into their seats in the large auditorium. He decided to stop by the restroom first and text Atsumu — the number was still burned in his mind — so he asked an usherette where to go and she helped him along.

When he started opening the door, he found that he need not look for Atsumu, because he was apparently in there. His voice sounded tense and Kiyoomi froze, peeking through the crack.

“Can you be professional for once?” It was Kita Shinsuke. His voice echoed through the restroom.

Atsumu scoffed. “I think I’ve been as professional as I could be, given the circumstances.”

“You’re being immature. You’re upsetting Aran.”

“Oh, I’m upsetting _Aran._ I apologize then if I’m having a hard time looking at my oldest friend in the eye, after he stole my ex-boyfriend.”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows shot up. So they were lovers. An ugly emotion started building in his chest.

“I am not an object to be passed around,” Kita said, sounding pissed. “I told you, we never went behind your back. You and I broke up, _two years ago_ , and Aran asked me out. You ignoring him all this time has been hard on him, and he’s hurt you wouldn’t even _look_ at him now.”

“I just find it extremely upsetting that you got with him a month after breaking up with me. Maybe you never hooked up while we were still together, but have you ever heard of emotional cheating, _Kita-san_?”

Kita sighed. “You’re actually not entitled to my feelings any longer, Atsumu. It’s been two years. You should move on, you just sound ridiculous now.”

And Kiyoomi had heard enough. His brain absorbed the new information and he stored it away for further review later. He pushed down any and all emotion and threw open the door. Heads snapped to his direction.

“There you are,” he said mildly, looking at a shocked Atsumu. His wide eyes looked teary, and he felt a surge of something in him. Protectiveness?

Possessiveness?

He strolled over and impulsively curled his arms around him. “Something wrong, baby?” His brain seemed to have disconnected from his mouth at some point. But there was just something inherently wrong about a crying Atsumu.

“N-no,” Atsumu stuttered into the crook of his neck. But his body relaxed.

Kiyoomi turned his icy gaze on Kita, who was flicking his eyes between him and Atsumu, lips slightly parted.

Then his jaw clicked shut and he straightened. He nodded at Sakusa. “I’ll be going ahead.” And then he exited the restroom.

When the door shut, he dropped his arms and Atsumu looked up at him. “You’re here,” he breathed out.

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at him. “You invited me.”

“Yeah but…”

He nudged Atsumu’s chin up with his knuckles, closing his mouth and lifting his face. For a second, he could only stare, a little starstruck. He was suddenly reminded he was in the presence of the highest-paid face in Japan.

Snapping out of it, he said, “Pull yourself together. Show’s starting soon.”

This might not have been the best idea.

\--

By the time they entered the large auditorium, everyone was settled — and waiting for Atsumu. When he spotted Ennoshita and Kita onstage, he realized they were expected to say a few words before they aired the film. Of course.

“Ah, there he is,” Ennoshita said into the microphone, and all heads turned towards them. His hand on Atsumu’s waist turned sweaty, but he kept his head up high, and guided the other man forward, because it looked like he was his date now.

“Where are we seated,” he muttered.

“At the very front,” Atsumu muttered back. “Sorry.”

Whispers broke out and he could feel eyes boring into him from every direction. Luckily, he was rather used to that. He was suddenly glad he splurged in a tailored all-black three-piece suit, although he skipped the tie. Was that a faux pass?

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the front. Atsumu led him to his seat and urged him to sit down, before turning back and making his way up the stage.

“Hote date, huh?” Ennoshita teased Atsumu when he finally reached him, and the audience tittered.

Atsumu was flushed, but was grinning brightly. He was practically glowing. Up on the stage with the spotlight directly on him, he was beautiful. Even Kiyoomi was taken by him.

He thought maybe he could want Atsumu after all.

Did want him.

“The hottest,” Atsumu said, and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, but his heartbeat picked up. He looked at Atsumu looking back at him and wondered what this star saw in him. Kiyoomi was nowhere near as alluring as him. He’d honestly say he was the opposite.

The group gave the usual “thank you for coming” and “we hope you enjoy this film,” before making their way back to their seats in the front row. Atsumu sat beside him and the movie finally started. They settled down to watch.

And Kiyoomi was _blown away_.

For all intents and purposes, the film was a quiet one. The wide shots made the characters seem isolated, and it began and ended in a dream-like tone. This had the effects of making the psychological horrors the film revolved on even more striking.

He watched Atsumu laugh and cry onscreen and it didn’t feel like he was watching anyone he knew. He was watching a haunted young man slowly lose his mind as he blurred the line between dream and reality.

He thought that maybe he’d underestimated Atsumu. That maybe he hadn’t been seeing him clearly all this time. That maybe he hadn’t been looking at him properly, the way he deserved.

When it was over, the auditorium burst into a standing ovation. After a moment, he stood up as well, joining in on the applause.

Everyone was clapping for Atsumu, but he was only looking at Kiyoomi.

And Kiyoomi was finally looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiyoomi and Atsumu get a glimpse of each other's worlds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for the d-word lmao

The noise seemed to slap Kiyoomi in the face when they entered the club, which was reserved for the afterparty. Beautiful women in gowns glided across the floor, and men in suits mingled together, carrying glasses of wine.

“Hey, hey, hey!” A man barrelled towards them. Bokuto Koutarou, his mind supplied. The actor hugged Atsumu, who then introduced Kiyoomi.

Bokuto studied Kiyoomi with wide, intense gold eyes. “I know you! The news guy!”

“Everyone knows,” someone said drily, popping up from behind Bokuto. After a moment, he identified him as Suna Rintarou. “He was crazy viral. Hi.”

Kiyoomi nodded at him. “Nice to meet you, Suna-san, Bokuto-san.”

“You know us!” Bokuto exclaimed.

“It’s my job to.” He paused. “I admit I am not as updated as Oikawa, though.”

And then another man made his presence known and his thought process stuttered.

How could he have forgotten Atsumu had a _twin_? It was unsettling to see what Atsumu would look like with dark hair.

Miya Osamu slipped his hand into Suna’s. Kiyoomi blinked. That bit never made it to the headlines, or even the newsroom. Oikawa was apparently good at keeping secrets.

“So you’re the journalist my brother is obsessed with,” Osamu said. He studied Kiyoomi from head to toe.

Kiyoomi did not like that. He raised an eyebrow. “And you’re the twin.”

Atsumu cleared his throat. “Samu, this is Omi. Omi, this is Samu.”

Osamu was still studying Kiyoomi. “I hope you’re not looking for a scoop.” He swung his hand intertwined with Suna’s. “If this leaks —”

Kiyoomi laughed lowly. “Believe me when I say I literally could not care less.” He placed a hand on Atsumu’s back. “Let’s get a drink, I’m going to need one to survive this.”

Wide-eyed, Atsumu obeyed.

Kiyoomi switched on his television persona and mingled, like Meian wanted him to. He’d attended quite a number of black tie events in his career, so he was used to this part. Didn’t mean he liked it though.

Celebrities were actually quite forward, approaching him and talking to him about his job, about the movie, about their own projects. They also swarmed around the night’s big star, Atsumu. They patted his back, hugged him, kissed his cheek, took Boomerangs with him, and all that crap.

And Atsumu bloomed under their attention and praise. He really did live for this.

Kiyoomi was unable to resist when they’d ask for selfies with him and Atsumu. He was already cringing at the impending shitshow. He wondered if the newsroom was ready for this mess. They would have predicted it, right? They were the ones who wanted him to go.

After three hours of that, he was drained. He whispered into Atsumu’s ear, “I wanna go home. If you’re coming with, meet me outside in ten.”

Atsumu nodded quickly. “I’ll go.” He started saying goodbye to people and Kiyoomi slipped out.

As he waited for the valet to fetch his car, he sighed and stared out into the night. What was he doing? There were many reasons he shouldn’t do what he was planning to do, but all he could think about was the electricity that had been present between him and Atsumu all night. It was fast becoming unbearable — he couldn’t keep still, he couldn’t focus. He’d only had one drink because he was driving, but why did he feel so unhinged?

What was Atsumu doing to him?

It was like all the thoughts and urges he’d suppressed the past year was clawing their way up from the deepest parts of him. All it took was one glance.

Atsumu arrived just as his car pulled over in front of him. Suna, Osamu, and Bokuto were with him.

The valet handed him his keys and he bowed his head in thanks. He glanced at Atsumu. “Get in. And whoever else needs a ride.” Didn’t they have a limo or something?

He rounded the car and entered the driver’s seat. To his displeasure, _everyone_ went in. Atsumu took the passenger’s seat.

“Nice car,” Bokuto said in a genuinely friendly voice.

“Thanks.”

Suna and Osamu were apparently sleeping over at Bokuto’s place in Aoyama, about a 20-minute drive from the cinemas in Shinjuku. Doable. He had Bokuto pin the location in Waze, then he connected his phone to the speakers and started driving.

“Buckle up,” he reminded them. There were clicks that told him they’d obeyed.

Not even five minutes later, his phone rang and he sighed. He already knew who it was. He tapped on his phone. “What, Meian.”

“You’re all over the internet,” Meian’s voice blared through the speakers. He tensed, hoping Meian wouldn’t say anything damning where Atsumu and his friends could hear him. But he didn’t want to accidentally kill them in a road accident by talking on the phone with one hand. He could already see the headlines: _Car accident kills Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Koutarou, Suna Rintarou_. _Miya Atsumu dead at 25_. _3_ _actors, news anchor die in tragic crash_.

“Surely, you saw that coming,” he told Meian.

“Yeah, sorry. Later I’ll make fun of you but for now I’m here to remind you that you have work tomorrow.”

“How could I forget?”

“And that your special report is supposed to air after the noon newscast.”

He was starting to get a bad feeling. “Alright, what happened?”

“Hinata,” Meian paused and sighed. “Sakusa, is there any chance, any chance at all that your big brain can recall the numbers of the women in Japan’s government? Like _right now_?”

He pulled over at the side of the road. “Hinata lost the data.”

“Hinata lost the data.”

“Meian, it’s 1 fucking a.m. Don’t tell me you’re all still there putting together the damn report.”

“Of course we’re still fucking here, at the rate we’re going, we’re going to be still fucking here by the time you come in at lunch tomorrow. So please tell me you can give me the numbers right the hell now, God, let us go fucking home.”

“Can’t you wait for another half hour or so? I have the files in my laptop, but I’m still on the road.”

“We need _something_ now, we can’t afford to stall another half hour, everybody’s at their limits. We don’t need all of it, we just need the totals and the insights, Sakusa, _please_.”

He dropped his head against the headrest and massaged his forehead. “Alright, give me a sec.”

“Great. Hinata!”

A crying Hinata was then on the line. “Sakusa-san, I am so sorry.”

He massaged his forehead harder. “Why aren’t you fired yet?”

Hinata cried louder.

There was a touch on his hand, and he gave a startled glance at Atsumu beside him.

Sighing, he said, “Pull yourself together and write this down. Women were given the right to vote in 1946. Forgot the exact date. 39 women were elected for the first time. I can’t recall the numbers but the percentage of women in the Lower House were at one to two percent until 1996. That year it reached 4.6 percent. In 2005, 43 female candidates won. In 2006, 54 women won. That's 11.3 percent of the total. That’s all I can remember right now. I can give the datasheet in half an hour, I have a copy of the file at home.”

“This is fine for now,” Hinata sobbed.

“It’s not fine,” he snapped. “I’m not 100 percent sure on all of that.” He straightened and pulled at the gearshift and started driving again, fast. “Damn it.”

Inunaki took over the phone. “This is fine for now,” he repeated. “We trust you. We just need to lay this out so that the editor won’t try to kill us tomorrow. Again.”

“You’re there too, Inunaki?”

“Everyone’s still fucking here. You’re welcome to join us in this hell, if you want.”

“I could,” he allowed, relaxing a little. “But why would I want to?”

“Ice cold,” Inunaki sighed.

“I already did the dirty work, now fix it. You think it was easy finding all that info from libraries? One night, just one night of peace is all I ask. You’re giving me _chronic migraine_.”

“We have a health card,” Inunaki dismissed. “And medicine allowance. Use it. Besides, who’s partying while we’re all crying right now, huh? This is unfair, we hate you. Yachi is about to have a nervous breakdown.”

“Yachi is always about to have a nervous breakdown. Just sedate her later or something.” Yachi Hitoka was in charge of the graphics that popped up on television reports. Most of the time, she was still inputting them up until the very last second.

“And Hinata is losing it.”

“I told you to fire him already.”

“He’s a hard-working kid.”

“You mean he’s an exploitable kid.”

“Yeah that.”

“He’s about to break, Inunaki. Do you want another suicidal researcher? I’m not confident he’s making it through with wrists intact.”

“Yeah, who decided they should give us medicine and clothing allowance, but no access to psych services?” Inunaki mused. “Ah well. Kid should quit the industry if he can’t handle the pressure. Anyway, I hear wailing, so I gotta go. Looks like no one’s sleeping tonight.”

“I’ll still send the data later.”

“Yes please, if it doesn’t interrupt your night with Miya fucking Atsumu. Didn’t you have me throw away the flowers —”

He tapped the end button on his phone. “That’s enough of that.” He picked the gadget up and tried to return to the Waze app, while keeping his eyes on the road. After a quick glance at the screen, he made a turn.

“You threw away my flowers?” Atsumu sounded hurt.

“It’s not like that,” he said calmly. “I don’t have a desk in the newsroom, I’m hardly ever there. Your gifts end up on Inunaki’s desk and he simply did not have space for them. Okay? I never even saw them. Except for one.”

“Oh.”

He fought the urge to apologize. It wasn’t his fault, damn it.

“But you knew.”

He sighed. “I knew.”

“And you couldn’t stop by the office and get them?”

He didn’t answer.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

Bokuto, Suna, and Osamu all bid them a very uncomfortable goodbye when he pulled over in front of the house. No one mentioned the fact that Atsumu wasn’t getting out of the car.

The moment they were gone, the tension in the air kicked up a notch.

He drove faster.

He pulled over in the basement parking lot, where his car was stuck in more often than not. He mostly took it out when his destination was not walkable. He hated taking the train. He’d mostly gotten a hold of his squeamishness when it came to germs and crowds, but he tended to avoid triggering it. After over eight years in journalism, there really was no space for such a condition. He learned to swallow it down and he’d built up a very high tolerance. Most days, he was fine.

He locked up the car and led his companion inside the building.

In the elevator, Atsumu started biting at his neck.

By the time they stumbled into his unit on the 12th floor, their lips were glued together, tongues in each other's mouths. Atsumu tasted like alcohol and smelled like expensive perfume. He hated it but he wanted to devour him more.

When they reached the bedroom, Kiyoomi groaned and pulled away. “Wait on the bed. I have something I need to do first.”

He strode over to his desk, shaking off the haze of arousal, and turned on the lamp. He opened his laptop and tapped fingertips against the table impatiently. Once he located the file, he emailed it to Inunaki. He had already given the softcopy to Hinata via USB, but he assumed the kid had lost even that. He hoped he had nothing important in that flash drive.

He texted Inunaki to say he’d sent the file and to not disturb him until morning. He made sure his alarms were on, then turned and headed to the bed.

And then his breath hitched in his throat.

Miya Atsumu lay on his sheets in all his naked glory, squirming as he touched himself. “Hurry up,” he moaned shamelessly.

Mouth dry and heart racing, Kiyoomi took one slow step after another, running his eyes over every inch of bare skin. This way, it was easy to see why Atsumu was so sought after. He was divine. He was a masterpiece. God really took his time making this one.

Kiyoomi wanted him to scream out his name.

When he reached the bed, he started peeling off his designer suit, carelessly dropping them on the floor. He’ll feel bad about it tomorrow. He had bigger priorities now.

Atsumu watched him like he was drugged.

Free of clothing, he kneeled in between muscled thighs, running hands over them. _Divine_ , he thought again. His insides were molten lava.

He leaned over and rummaged through his bedside drawer for lube and condoms. “You ready for this?”

“I have been ready for over a year,” Atsumu said, voice low. “You kept me waiting.”

“I thought it was a temporary infatuation.”

“I wish it was.”

“Me, too.”

They stared at each other, the thrum of electricity reaching an all time high.

Atsumu spread his legs. “Call me baby again... _Daddy_.”

And Kiyoomi was gone. He would have done anything for Miya Atsumu at that moment.

He had no choice but to surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen the age difference was begging for it...I take no responsibility
> 
> Also, overnight cramming of a segment? Happens way too often for everyone's peace of mind. There is a reason our building has showers in every other floor.
> 
> More oversharing: my officemates and I love to come up with headlines for our hypothetical deaths. It's a fun thing we do when killing time. Pun intended.
> 
> P.S. I got the women in government data from a report by Japan Times. It's all facts!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the apparent SakuAtsu day, have two chapters of fluff

He woke up to a warm body curled around him. A strange sensation. Then his brain kicked in.

So that happened.

He blinked his dry eyes, the contact lenses making his vision wonky, cursing himself for forgetting to remove them. Then he gazed down at the tufts of blonde hair that looked like it was abused by a pair of hands all night. That was true enough. He had gripped it, and pulled it, and smoothed it as Atsumu went down on his knees and put that sinful tongue to good use. And then he spent the night fucking him into the mattress, hoping that come morning, he’d have it all out of his system.

It was not out of his system. He’d only woken up and already he wanted to do it all again. What was he to do with this, then?

Damn. He’d never felt desire like that in years. Maybe not his entire lifetime.

He pulled himself away from their warm cocoon and got started on his morning routine. The bath didn't do anything to erase the feeling of nails running down his back. A glass of cold water did nothing to extinguish the heat building in his stomach.

Defeated, he started making breakfast for two.

By the time Atsumu walked into the kitchen, it was 8:30 a.m., and he was wearing one of Sakusa’s oversized sweaters. Kiyoomi was rather taken by the way Atsumu didn’t bother asking for permission, and even dared to sit on his lap like he had every right to.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Atsumu observed. “That’s hot.”

And then Atsumu drank from _his_ glass of water, and picked up bacon from _his_ plate. Kiyoomi watched him, entranced. Watched his lips as he chewed, watched that tongue flick out to lick them clean. Hypnotized.

“I don’t do one night stands. And I don’t do casual sex.”

Atsumu paused and looked at him warily.

He abandoned all common sense. “Will you date me?”

Atsumu dropped the bacon. “What?”

“Will you date me?” he repeated patiently.

“Are you fucking kidding? That’s all I’ve been wanting since I saw you. What the fuck? Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious. I don’t fuck around when it comes to these things. I have no patience for that.”

Atsumu ran wide eyes across his face. He opened his mouth to answer, but Kiyoomi cut in.

“Think about it first. I don’t play games. I’m 31, whoever I let into my life now is for the long haul, and I’m going to need that level of commitment from you, too. And I’m very difficult to live with. I’ll be busy a lot, I can’t always prioritize you.” He was laying it all out on the table so that the failures of his past relationships can be avoided. Theoretically, anyway.

Atsumu pressed a palm against his chest and started dragging it up. “But you want me?”

“I want you,” he admitted. “I tried really hard not to.”

“Did you think of me the past year?” His hand trailed across his neck to grasp the hairs at the back of his head.

“More than I should have.”

“I thought about you, too,” Atsumu breathed out, looking at him with glittering eyes. “So yes, I want it all. Please.”

“You’re sure.”

“ _Yes_. Oh my god. Yes.”

“I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy.”

“So am I.”

They stared at each other in challenge.

Then Kiyoomi sighed and wrapped his arms around Atsumu, pulling him in. “Alright then.”

“Just like that?”

He leaned in and kissed him gently. “Just like that.”

\--

He was late. He entered the newsroom to smirks and knowing glances. Hinata was asleep under a desk, and Meian and Inunaki were seated around the “brainstorming table” (really just a round table filled with clutter), drinking 7 Eleven coffee. Kiyoomi counted five empty cups before them.

“Well, shit, you guys really are still here.” It was supposed to be their day off. This was one hell of an overtime. “Is the special airing yet?”

“The first segment, yes,” Meian answered.

“...and the other two?”

“Not yet done,” Inunaki said with a touch of hysterics in his voice. “Iwaizumi is exporting the second segment as we speak, it will probably be finished by the first gap. I hope. Yachi is adding in the graphics for the third segment.”

He didn’t need to point out what would happen if the second segment wasn’t exported and ready for airing after the commercial gap. This was really cutting it too close, but it actually happened often.

“Your job is pretty stressful,” Atsumu noted from behind him, and Inunaki jerked and nearly dropped his coffee.

Kiyoomi stepped aside to reveal their visitor. “He wanted to tag along.”

“I am extremely curious, especially since I heard your phone call last night.”

Meian and Inunaki looked at each of them with gaping mouths.

Atsumu was gazing around the newsroom, which was empty except for them, and two desk people who were typing on their computers like zombies. “Can I watch the special?”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “Sure. Choose a TV. Let’s see if they manage to air the whole thing.”

Sourly, Inunaki said, “We’ll manage it. I have faith in Iwaizumi, he hasn’t failed us before.”

“That man deserves a raise, for all the crap you put him through.”

“How do you people survive this?” Atsumu wondered as he walked around the office, exploring.

“It’s for adrenaline junkies, really,” he answered. He settled on the table with Meian and Inunaki, taking his Macbook out of his messenger bag and placing it on the table. He usually took this time to work on more special reports. He won’t have to prepare for the evening newscast until past 4 p.m.

After a while, Atsumu took a seat beside him, leaning against him and tucking his head in the curve of his neck. A television was on, and he heard his own voice talking about women’s suffrage rights.

He brushed his lips distractedly on Atsumu’s forehead. “This is going to be boring. You can just go home.”

“Don’t wanna. I wanna watch your evening newscast. I mean I always watch it, but I wanna see it in person.”

He smiled at his screen, amused and kind of touched.

“Okay hold on,” Inunaki interrupted. “So you’re...together now?”

“Yes,” Atsumu said smugly.

“I gave in and took him home,” he admitted, when his colleagues turned their eyes on him. “Ah, sorry, I forgot. Atsumu, this is Inunaki, the person who kept getting your flowers.” He nodded at Inunaki and then at Meian. “And that’s Meian, our managing editor. He made me go to the premiere night, so you should thank him. He technically does not need to be here now, but he’s hands-on like that.”

“When there’s a mess, I like to make sure it’s fixed,” Meian said. “Nice to meet you, Atsumu-kun.”

Atsumu had lifted his head up and was looking at him, hurt. “You didn’t even want to go to the premiere night?”

 _Fuck_. He caressed Atsumu’s cheek, marveling at the feeling of soft skin, and said, “But I did go and we’re together and that’s all that matters now.” He punctuated it with a kiss. It was becoming an addition. After all that time denying his desires, he couldn’t stop touching him now. He wanted to feel Atsumu pressed against him. He wanted to consume him whole.

“Well, this just made things easier,” Inunaki said. “You’re trending, you know. We were wondering if we should ride the story and report about it, or if we just do nothing. Are you going public?”

“It’s Atsumu’s call,” he said.

“What, why me? It’s your call. Obviously I want to shout out to the world that you’re mine now.”

He considered it. “Will it look bad if it gets out?” he asked Meian.

“Nah,” he assured. “We have a TV reporter who got married to a pop star, remember? There’s no rule against it. Hell, there isn’t even a rule about dating within the company. Do what you want. Just make sure we get the scoop first.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Naturally.” Then he realized something. “Oh god, Oikawa is never letting me hear the end of this.”

Inunaki and Meian started laughing. The racket woke Hinata up, who groaned as he started to stir. They all turned to look at him as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What time ‘s it…”

He turned bleary eyes to stare at them. It took him a few seconds to register what he’s seeing. Then his eyes widened. “Miya Atsumu!” He jumped and hit the desk, and he bowled over, groaning.

This time, they all laughed.

\--

The evening program ended with Oikawa’s report about the movie premiere. Since he didn’t go past the red carpet and the press, Kiyoomi was excluded from the report. Thankfully.

But before he could wrap up the show, Suga said, “But Oikawa wasn’t the only one who was there last night, was he?” and turned a grin at him.

Daichi said, “Yes, do tell us how your night was, Sakusa-kun. And why we have a live viewer over here.”

Atsumu grinned at Kiyoomi from where he was standing beside Yaku.

He kept his cool. “Yes, I was there at Miya Atsumu’s request. I have to say his performance impressed me, and I personally found the movie rather brilliant.”

They stared at him, waiting.

He paused and sighed internally. “And yes, he is indeed here, because he wanted to watch the newscast in person. I suppose he gets boyfriend rights, so I let him in.”

Suga and Daichi cheered and it took all of him not to roll his eyes. He maintained his stoic countenance, up until Atsumu ran into the set and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Then he jogged back out, leaving behind a smiling Kiyoomi.

“Finally,” Suga sighed. “I was rooting for you, Atsumu-kun!”

“Everyone here was,” Daichi said conspiratorially. “I’ll have to say that’s my favorite news for today.”

“And that’s it for HQ Weekend News tonight,” Kiyoomi said, wanting it all to end. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“I’m Sawamura Daichi.”

“And I’m Sugawara Koshi. From all of us here, goodnight.”

He leaned back on his chair when the closing music sounded.

No going back now.

\--

Atsumu spent all of Sunday ironing things out with his team and dealing with the consequences of their sudden announcement. They were crazy viral and Kiyoomi’s Twitter has reached a million followers. His Instagram, which he barely uses, is also gaining traction. He simply stopped opening his apps in the meantime.

Atsumu came knocking again on Monday, and he stayed for the entirety of Kiyoomi’s two-day rest period, saying that he pushed everything back to squeeze this in.

“You owe me,” he huffed, crushing Kiyoomi with his body and wrapping his limbs around him. “You ignored me for over a _year_.”

“I figured you were just a kid with a crush and you’d forget about me. You did stop bugging me so I thought I was right.”

“You weren’t! I just thought you didn’t appreciate me being so persistent. But I kept thinking about you, so I couldn’t help but send you an invite, on the off chance you’d come. And then there you were.”

“Right.” He remembered the circumstances of when they saw each other again. “About Kita…”

Atsumu then told him about his history with his co-star and the man he was dating now, Ojiro Aran, an environmental activist and Atsumu’s oldest friend.

“I just — I introduced them. I introduced them months into dating Kita, and we were together for fourteen months. And they got together a month after our breakup. And I keep wondering when it happened, when they fell in love. If I was just in the way, and they didn’t bother telling me so I didn’t look stupid. I just feel so betrayed, even now.”

“What did Kita say when you guys broke up?”

“He initiated it, actually. Said he couldn’t handle me.” Atsumu’s voice was dark now. “I was too much, and I didn’t stand for enough. Unlike Aran, who’s an actual activist, I guess that’s what he was looking for, or whatever. Kita just found me shallow, I guess. Or stupid.”

“Are you not over him?”

“I’m over Kita. I’m not over _Aran_. It’s been over two years, but he’s the one person I still can’t stand to look at. Is that horrible of me?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through pale hair. “It’s valid.”

Atsumu nuzzled his cheek against Kiyoomi’s chest. He mumbled, “Kita isn’t all that anyway. That’s what I realized eventually. I was blinded because he was this big superstar, and I was a nobody, you know? But it was so hard to keep him interested in me. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”

He thought of his own dating experiences, of the way they all just lost interest in him or got sick of him. “It shouldn’t. Maybe we’re either too much or not enough for people because they were not meant for us.”

Atsumu clung to him tighter. “We fit together well, don’t we?”

“Isn’t it too early to tell?”

“No,” Atsumu insisted. “You’re mine now. If you’re not meant for me, I’m going to make it so that you are. I’m going to make you love me.”

He gazed at the ceiling as he stroked soft blonde locks and thought, _I’m already halfway there._

\--

Everything came into place slowly and then all at once.

Adjusting to suddenly having another human being in his life was not easy for Kiyoomi. He was used to only looking after himself, to living his day to day life focusing on his job. He followed a routine he’d developed years ago, and lived a lifestyle dictated by his changing shifts and responsibilities and the ever turning news cycle.

Atsumu was a disruption to the routine.

Suddenly he was going out on dinner dates, instead of eating from a tupperware while standing in his kitchen still dressed in work clothes. He had someone he texted good morning when he started his day, and someone he called when he ended it. He’d begun using his car more and more as he started picking Atsumu up from wherever he demanded to be picked up, or driving them to a spontaneous trip to Yokohama, just because Atsumu wanted it.

At first, he was a pretty shitty boyfriend, honestly. Forgetting to text, forgetting dates, forgetting Atsumu was there in the apartment with him. Once, he’d worked overtime and forgot to inform Atsumu, and he had to drive to Bokuto’s house to pick up his sulking boyfriend, who’d apparently been waiting for him to take him to dinner. He’d arrived there drained and exhausted and then he had to deal with his friends’ disapproving glares. He’d sighed and simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Atsumu had been quiet on the ride back to Kiyoomi’s unit and he was tired enough to question if this was a good idea. “Maybe this isn’t —”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Atsumu said. “Just let me be upset, damn it. Later, I’ll get over it and understand, just —” he stopped talking.

When they got to the apartment, Kiyoomi asked Atsumu if he’d eaten and he nodded without looking at him, so he heated himself a meal. He ate silently, leaning against the counter, lost in dangerous thoughts, when Atsumu suddenly hugged him from the side.

“It’s only going to get worse from here,” he said, staring off into nothing. “I work on holidays. I’ll miss birthdays. I’ll skip important events. And I _will_ miss dates. I’m never going to quit my job, Atsumu. It’s early, still. You can walk away.”

“No.” Atsumu tightened his arms around him. “Because you’re wrong, it’s not _early_. It’s already too late.”

“Being with me is just going to be a series of disappointments,” he warned. “You can have anyone. They’ll be better at giving you what you deserve.”

“But I want you.”

“One day, that won’t be enough.” But he sighed and put down his food.

He turned so he could hold Atsumu properly and press kisses on his cheek. “Sorry. Really. I’ll adjust.”

And then, eventually, he did. And things got better. Things got _amazing_.

He got used to Atsumu being in his space, in his life. He learned to crave him. He learned to miss him.

Packages of junk food started making their way into his cupboards “for my cheat days, Omi-Omi.” Clothes he’d never pull off started making their way into his walk-in closet “because I need to be runway ready 24/7, did you forget I’m a model?” 

He learned that there was apparently still so much of himself he could give.

And he learned _Atsumu_.

“What’s your favorite season?”

“Er, summer?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Fatty tuna.”

“Sunrise or sunset?”

“Sunrise.”

“What’s a strange thing that makes you really happy?”

“Uh...the smell of fresh linens?”

“Oh, I like that, too.”

“Omi-Omi, why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m getting to know you.”

Atsumu barked out a laugh at that, like he thought Kiyoomi was being silly. “Do you have to approach it like an interview? We have time to get to know each other, Omi-Omi. You look like you’re about to take down notes anytime.”

“I’m taking mental notes. What’s wrong with that?”

Atsumu laughed again and tackled him. They bounced on the mattress. “You’re so cute. But let me retain a little mystery, hmm? You’ll get bored of me when you figure me out.”

“That’s not how it works with me,” he replied honestly. He paused. “If you could be anywhere in the universe right now…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omi be like, daddy ain't enough, let's be SUGAR DADDY

Kiyoomi was not used to slow days. There were slow _news_ days, sure, but even then there was always something else to busy himself with. And when he wasn’t working, he was reading articles, or watching documentaries, or cleaning his apartment. At this point, being forced to live through a slow day might drive him to madness.

But then Atsumu crashed into his life and one day said, “Omi, can you just lay here with me? You’re making me dizzy.”

Kiyoomi paused from where he was organizing papers and books on his desk. He looked over at where Atsumu was lounging on the bed. “I’m cleaning.”

“We finally get some time to see each other and you’re cleaning? Come here, seriously.”

Well, he had a point. He crawled into bed beside him and Atsumu shifted to face him. They studied each other in the afternoon light streaming through the windows.

“You gotta learn to relax, Omi-Omi. It’s your day-off, you should be resting. Do you know what rest means?”

“Do you?” Atsumu was a busy man himself. There were days Kiyoomi wouldn’t see him because he had back-to-back events or photoshoots, or new projects he was discussing with some person or another.

“I do. My life gets too vapid, I learned to force myself to slow down sometimes, you know? Or else I'll make myself crazy and end up banging my head on walls again.”

Kiyoomi hummed. “I see. I don’t know how to slow down, I suppose.”

“That’s okay. You can still learn.”

He did learn. He saw the merits of just killing time with Atsumu, listening to him talk, or indulging his requests of movie marathons.

But mostly he watched him and committed every part of him to memory. He marvelled at how there was nothing delicate about Atsumu, but he was precious anyway. He was tall and thickly muscled — his body was so sculpted, the planes of it were lethal. His face, when lacking expression, always looked bored, even condescending. At rest, Miya Atsumu looked every inch the snobbish superstar who was so above the world.

But his cheeks were soft, and when he smiled, they were pinchable. His hands were smooth, and they were gentle whenever he held Kiyoomi’s face. And when he looked at Kiyoomi, his face would change just the slightest bit, a kind of _I’m glad to see you_.

Miya Atsumu was one of those people that simply confuses Kiyoomi — whenever he thinks he has him figured out, he does something so strange that he realizes he doesn’t know him at all. Atsumu does pilates while listening to classical music because “I like Chopin, why are you looking at me like that? I took up music, remember?” And he played the ukulele for Kiyoomi once and sang “Rainbow Connection” from that Muppet movie to prove it. He had a beautiful voice. But apparently he preferred when Kiyoomi sang.

“I am 100 percent sure that you can sing. I’m obsessed with your voice, it’s gorgeous and that’s just when you’re talking. And you can change it at will on television so don’t even front with me. Sing for me please?”

And apparently Kiyoomi was weak for him, so he did. And Atsumu smiled at him like he hung the stars. “I knew it,” he breathed out.

Miya Atsumu was one of those people who held the world in the palm of his hands — every opportunity was his for the taking. And yet, he worked like he had to earn each of those chances. For the rest of the world, he was perfect, but for him, there was always room for improvement.

He would say things like, “I’m not sure I’ll get a single role again after this movie. I don’t really have the experience that most actors my age have in the industry. All I’m good at is posing almost naked in spreads.”

To which Kiyoomi replied, “That’s already what many people think, so you can’t go around thinking that, too. If there was only one person who believed in you, that should be you. Besides, I wasn’t lying, I thought you were rather phenomenal.”

“Why do I feel like you can relate?” Atsumu looked at him. “Hey Omi, you never told me. Why did you want to be a journalist?”

“No deep reason. When I was a kid I was watching the news on TV and I pointed at the newscaster and told my mom, I want to be like him. And that never changed through the years, so I worked my way towards that goal, day in, day out. I still do.”

“You’re a very consistent and steadfast person, aren’t you? That’s admirable. You always make me think you’re so cool, Omi-Omi.”

And that was perhaps the thing that confuses Kiyoomi most of all — that Miya Atsumu, who shines so bright he’s blinded the world, keeps looking at _him_ like he was something incredible.

He wonders what will happen when he removes the rose-tinted glasses and realizes that Kiyoomi was just a man after all.

\--

Atsumu’s 26th birthday fell on a Monday, so Kiyoomi invited him to spend the day with him since it was his day off. Atsumu eagerly said yes, and Kiyoomi texted Suna to tell him the plan was on.

He picked up Atsumu from his apartment in Meguro, and let him dictate their day, telling him it was his treat. Atsumu dragged them around Ginza to eat and shop, and he refused to let Kiyoomi pay for everything at first but got intrigued when Kiyoomi insisted. And then he took it as a challenge to see when Kiyoomi would draw the line.

He didn’t.

Come lunchtime, Kiyoomi was carrying a bunch of shopping bags and holding the hand of a very pleased boyfriend.

They retreated to Kiyoomi’s apartment when they got tired. He set the bags down in a corner in his room and sat down beside Atsumu on the bed. He wound his arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. “Happy, baby?”

Atsumu’s lips curled up into a smile. “Yeah. I liked spending the day with you.”

Feeling warmed, he kissed Atsumu on the mouth. Then he started kissing a trail down his neck, smiling when he heard his breath catch in his throat. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

Atsumu was already reaching for him, dropping his phone carelessly on the sheets. “Omi.”

Kiyoomi pulled away and scooted up the bed to lay down properly. “Why don’t you come up here and I’ll let you do whatever you want with me?”

Eyes wide and lips parted, Atsumu only stared.

He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Well?”

Atsumu pounced.

\--

Hours and hours later, Kiyoomi cracked his eyes open and wondered why he thought agreeing to a surprise party for Atsumu was a good thing, He was comfortable in the warm cocoon they’d created, and he detested having to peel himself away from it.

He sighed and started kissing Atsumu awake.

Atsumu moaned and tried to squirm away. “Sleep.”

“No sleep.” He nibbled at his neck and impulsively decided to bite down hard and suck. Atsumu whimpered loudly. “Wake up, baby. I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“Don’t wanna. You tired me out.”

“But I already made reservations. Come on, it’s still your birthday. Let’s get up.”

After a bit more convincing, they were finally bathed and dressed and ready to go.

When they reached his car, he presented a tie to Atsumu. “Put this around your eyes, it’s a surprise.”

Atsumu perked up. “Surprise?” He tied it around his eyes and Kiyoomi started driving.

When he arrived at Bokuto’s place he parked in front.

He texted Bokuto to give him a heads up and started leading Atsumu up the walkway. The door quietly opened to let them in. The house was large, and was clearly prepared to host a wild night, the living room packed with guests, most of them famous. They were all quiet as they eagerly waited, eyes on Atsumu. Kiyoomi finally removed the tie and everyone screamed “Surprise!” and popped confetti.

Atsumu jerked in shock, stumbling back into Kiyoomi, who steadied him by the waist. For a second he didn’t move, then he turned around and kissed Kiyoomi passionately, sticking his tongue down his throat shamelessly and cupping the back of his head so he could take whatever he wanted. Kiyoomi pulled him in until they were pressed together and kissed back. He wondered if he should just take them back to his apartment then and there. 

Someone cleared his throat, and Kiyoomi pulled away reluctantly. “Happy birthday. Go on, your friends are waiting.”

Atsumu hugged him then turned and yelled, “Ya fuckers!”

“Ya shameless hussy,” Osamu said, eyeing the hickeys on his twin’s neck as he got closer.

Then Atsumu tackled Bokuto and the party started.

\--

Kiyoomi had every intention to plaster himself to the walls and fade into the background but Atsumu didn’t let him. No, Atsumu kept an ironclad grasp on his hand and introduced him to people he hadn’t met as “Kiyoomi, my boyfriend.” Not _Sakusa Kiyoomi, the news anchor, who happens to be my boyfriend_. Just _Kiyoomi, my boyfriend_.

Atsumu dragged him into selfies and group photos, included him in conversations, explained the context of inside jokes, and didn’t let him out of his sight.

Kiyoomi loved him.

And as Atsumu perched on his lap like the giant puppy he was, Kiyoomi held him by the waist and watched him regale his friends with a story, and thought, _So this is what it feels like to own him_.

And, _I want to own him for the rest of my life_.

There was someone who’d been flitting in and out of his attention all night: Kita Shinsuke. Normally Kiyoomi wouldn’t pay attention to him, but he’d caught Kita starting at Atsumu one too many times and he had to wonder.

Kita was at the edges of Atsumu’s orbit again, watching the way Kiyoomi’s hands rested on Atsumu’s stomach. In a fit of possessiveness, he tugged Atsumu closer and pressed a kiss on his neck.

“Yes, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu asked, amused, pausing in the story he’d been telling.

Kiyoomi rested his chin on Atsumu’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around him, and said, “Nothing.”

“You guys are disgusting,” Osamu said, his head on Suna’s shoulder.

“I think it’s really sweet!’ Bokuto said. “Tsumutsumu was pining for Omi-san for so long.”

“Yeah, okay, enough of that,” Atsumu said quickly. “As I was saying, the photoshoot…”

Hours later, when they were getting ready to leave and Atsumu went around saying goodbye to the guests, Kiyoomi lost sight of him.

When he waited a little too long, he went and looked for him and heard him speaking with Kita. Kiyoomi stopped automatically and didn’t show himself. He felt a rush of deja vu.

“..why is that my problem?” Atsumu was asking.

“I’m just asking you to think about it,” Kita said. “Are you really ready for that kind of commitment? You don’t understand, everything’s going to be different from now on.”

Atsumu sighed. “Whatever. Goodbye, Kita.”

Kiyoomi took some steps back. When Atsumu appeared in his sight, he said, “There you are. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m beat. I’m sleeping at yours.”

“I wasn’t about to let you sleep anywhere else.”

Atsumu slinked in closer and ran his hands up Kiyoomi’s stomach. “Oh? Got big plans tonight?” He placed his lips near Kiyoomi’s ear. “Daddy?”

The word had an instant effect. His body locked up. “Get to the car,” he gritted out.

Licking his lips, Atsumu gave him one final heated glance and started leading the way out.

It turned out there wasn’t much sleeping to be done that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the calm before the storm


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE A DEEP BREATH. THIS WILL HURT FOR A SECOND (CW: JEALOUSY? MISUNDERSTANDINGS? IDK)
> 
> I updated the tags, FYI

Everything fell apart the way it came together: slowly and then all at once.

Kiyoomi didn’t notice at first. He wondered if that was because they were both busy, because he knew they were both _supposed_ to be busy.

He didn’t question it when Atsumu got busier and busier and he saw him less and less. If there was anyone who understood what it was like to be loaded down with work, it was Kiyoomi.

Weeks passed that way. Kiyoomi didn’t push. He assured Atsumu that he understood.

But even when they were together, Atsumu seemed distracted. Distant. Irritable.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked one night, after he picked up Atsumu from a photoshoot. Atsumu had entered the car without a greeting, and he hadn’t said a single world since.

“You didn’t do anything,” Atsumu said.

“That’s not a no.”

Silence.

His temple started throbbing with a familiar pain. “Atsumu.”

When his boyfriend refused to answer, he sighed and drove the rest of the way to Atsumu’s apartment studio. He parked in the basement, and they went up, carrying bags of grocery so they could cook dinner.

But Kiyoomi couldn’t let it go. He didn’t like it when things weren’t clear. When they set the bags down in the kitchen, he asked again, “Why are you upset with me?”

“It’s not that,” Atsumu said, exasperated.

“It's a simple question that requires a simple answer,” Kiyoomi said, voice hard. “Why can't you ever just say what you mean?”

Atsumu rubbed a hand across his face, sighing, like he was the one who had the right to be frustrated. It irritated Kiyoomi. He threw his hands up. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“I wish you weren't,” Atsumu said.

The words landed like a knife and for a startled moment, Kiyoomi couldn’t speak. Then he said, “Fine then. You only needed to say so.” He picked up his keys and walked out the door.

Before he fell asleep, he received a message from Atsumu, reading, “Sorry.”

He sighed and let it go.

But things started being bad more than good. He knew something was wrong when he touched Atsumu’s shoulder and his hand was nudged off in irritation. At the time, he’d paused and didn’t try again, but he started noticing that Atsumu was avoiding and downright rejecting his touches.

And something cold started to build inside Kiyoomi.

When October ended with no change to the limbo in their relationship, Kiyoomi finally asked, “Atsumu, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Atsumu looked up from his phone. Then looked back down. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he said sternly. “You’ve been this way for weeks and weeks now.” When did it even start? About a week after the party? “Talk to me about what’s wrong.”

“God, you sound like my parents,” Atsumu complained. “I told you nothing’s wrong. Can we just — not? I’m not in the mood for this.”

Throat tight, Kiyoomi let it go. Again. He had no choice. He couldn’t force Atsumu to talk to him, if he didn’t want to.

After that, he started seeing Atsumu less and less. Atsumu didn’t even bother to reply to his messages a lot of the time.

How does that happen? How could they be so happy one day then so distant the next?

Did he even still have a boyfriend? Was this how it ends? That didn’t last long at all. He’d say it was about the same length of time he managed to keep past relationships. Was he cursed?

If he had any doubts about where the relationship was headed, it was erased when he checked his phone one morning to find a picture of Atsumu and Kita kissing all over social media.

Atsumu and Kita. Kissing. On the lips. And it was posted by Kita on Twitter with the caption, “Missing you.”

Well, that was that, then.

\--

Why was November so damn cold? He always hated the winter. Why can’t it always be spring?

He sighed under his mask and tightened his coat around him, as if it could protect him from the chilly, potentially dangerous air.

“It’s going to be fine,” Komori said from beside him. “For the last time, our vaccines are complete. Auntie told me. We probably won’t catch it.”

He scowled. They were standing outside the Infectious Diseases building of a hospital in Tokyo, piecing together a special report about the measles outbreak in Japan that showed no signs of stopping. At 270 cases, that was the highest number it has been in a decade.

Tokyo had 47 cases, spanning across all age groups. Most of them were referred to this specific hospital. Once they were cleared by the hospital admin, they were going inside to interview those who were willing.

He truly hated his job sometimes.

After a while, a hospital staff fetched them and said four cases were willing to be interviewed and that they already signed consent forms. One was a senior, one was a pregnant lady, one was a young professional, and one was a year-old child — her father was the one who was going to speak to them. Perfect. That was just what they asked for.

Kiyoomi tamped down on the old feelings of anxiety when it came to viruses and illnesses and powered through the interviews, trying his damn best to seem sympathetic. After that, they interviewed the hospital director for a statement.

“The biggest frustration is that this is all preventable,” the director said. “We are urging people to get vaccinated. We are trying to prevent an epidemic.”

Wonderful. An epidemic was just what they needed this year.

Kiyoomi couldn’t get out of there faster. He only relaxed when they were at a restaurant that they stopped by for lunch.

“Is this your biggest nightmare, or what?” Komori asked, amused.

“It is,” he answered flatly. He had washed his hands for 20 seconds twice, and already disinfected their table thrice.

“I haven’t seen you this bad in a while.” Komori was frowning at him now, concerned.

“It’s just the damn outbreak. Who would have seen this coming?” Sometimes the news cycle can be so unbelievable. There always has to be something — a political debacle, a social crisis, a _disease outbreak_.

Every time they think the world couldn’t throw any more surprises at them, it manages it. He happened to be in the newsroom when the Health Secretary declared it an outbreak on television, and they had all blinked at each other in disbelieving silence. Except Inunaki, who had shouted at the television, “You took your time announcing that, go resign!”

They had quickly put together a pitch, and because they were short-staffed (someone was fired after accidentally including a copyrighted clip in one of their YouTube videos — they had to pay Toei Animation an incomprehensible amount of money), Komori was pulled from his usual duties to help Kiyoomi produce it.

And so there his cousin was, studying him across the table. Their cameramen and driver had opted to sit elsewhere. They tended to do that.

“How are you holding up?” Komori finally asked.

“As long as I don’t start to itch in the next few days, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not — I mean about...you know.”

He knew exactly what Komori meant, but he was hoping he’d let it pass. Ah well. “Again, I’m fine.”

Komori hesitated. “Sakusa...I’m sure you saw what they both said.”

He did see. The previous Sunday, he was handed the lineup of reports for the evening newscast, and he’d paused at the entertainment segment.

 _Miya Atsumu says kissing photo with Kita Shinsuke was old, reveals past relationship._ And _Kita Shinsuke apologizes for controversial photo with Miya Atsumu: ‘I was carried away by old feelings.’_

He had brushed it off and asked Suga to do the entertainment reports, and asked the floor director not to show his face on screen during those parts.They both agreed, but Suga had hesitated and turned to him.

“Sakusa-kun,” Suga said carefully. “It checked out, you know, that really was an old photo…He’s been calling Oikawa and even the TV news desk. Every day.”

He had simply said, “Thank you for agreeing to take over that segment, Suga-san.”

Suga had sighed and let him be.

To Komori, he said, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?” Komori asked, exasperated. “If it was all a misunderstanding, then —”

“The relationship was already dying before that whole issue. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why has Atsumu been calling me practically every damn day? Can’t you at least answer his calls?”

“I blocked him,” he admitted. “I’m not being immature, he called while I was recording an interview and my audio file was corrupted. I couldn’t risk him doing it again.”

Komori stared at him. “So what, it’s over? That was what, three months?”

“Yes, it was really nothing, when you think about it.”

“Did it feel like nothing?”

He kept silent. Luckily, the waiter arrived then, carrying their ramen.

They pulled their masks down and ate quietly for a while. And then Komori inevitably spoke up again. “Look, Sakusa, you can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“You know what! That thing you do where you just — switch yourself off and act like — _that_. It’s so damn hard to reach you when you’re like that. It’s okay to admit that you’re hurt, you know.”

He burned to say that no, he wasn’t hurt, but he would just sound ridiculous. Of course he was hurt. Everyone knew it, and he thought he was going to combust with the amount of pitying glances he’s been receiving. The only way to save face was to act as if it didn’t bother him.

“Are you really just going to let it go? Just like that?” Komori demanded.

“Just like that.”

“But you were so happy. You were so damn happy for the first time in your life. Sakusa —”

He put down his chopsticks, sighing. “Look, Komori, you don’t know what happened, okay? He was pulling away, we were fighting, it was over. It’s not just about the picture.”

“Couples _fight_ ,” Komori said, sounding like he was reaching his limits. “People have _phases_. That doesn’t mean it’s the damn _apocalypse_. But you wouldn’t know because you never managed to hold on to a relationship longer than three months.”

“I told you, it’s all or nothing for me —”

“Right, right. You demand the same level of commitment you give, and you drop them like a hot potato when you think they aren’t giving it. Or maybe,” Komori looked him in the eyes. “You only love people when it’s convenient for you.”

He glared at him, offended. “That’s bullshit —”

“But you do!” Komori was raising his voice now, and Kiyoomi shushed him. His cousin lowered his tone, but he was clearly angry. “You were never there for the aftermath of your relationships, but I was. They came to me. I _know_ how you work. You hold them at arm’s length, ultimately refuse to let them in, and when they leave, you pin the blame on them because they ‘couldn’t handle you.’ But they just couldn’t get past those walls, Sakusa, because _you_ don’t let them!”

Rendered silent by the sheer amazement of seeing Komori angry, Kiyoomi could only stare.

“You can’t demand it _‘all’_ and then treat people like — like objects you can pick up and put down when you feel like it. You can’t just love Atsumu on your day-offs, you can’t just remember him when you’re not busy, you can’t just like him when he’s his perfect and happy self. People are not perfect, Sakusa. They are flawed. Atsumu is flawed. _You’re_ flawed. Relationships are hard work, but they’re not like your job. It takes more than just practice and some getting used to, because it involves two people who are always changing.”

“It also involves two people changing their minds.”

Komori rolled his eyes. “So what, you got a taste of what it would be like to get hurt by Atsumu, and now you’re spooked? This is part of the ‘all,’ Sakusa. Are you telling me you can’t walk the talk?”

“He was the one half-assing it,” he protested.

“Oh, look in the mirror. It’s about time. It never did occur to you that maybe you’re the problem. I’m not saying Atsumu wasn’t wrong, I’m saying you’re overlooking a glaring part of the messes you find yourself in.”

They spent the rest of the meal in prickly silence.

\--

When he got to his apartment that night, Atsumu was leaning against the door. He straightened upon seeing Kiyoomi.

“Atsumu,” he said coolly. “What are you doing here?”

“My calls weren’t coming through so I’m here. I have some things I need to say to you.”

Sighing, he unlocked his door and let them both in. He headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, dropping his mask into a trash bin.

Settling against the kitchen counter with a glass of water, he gestured to Atsumu to begin.

Looking upset, Atsumu said, “They were old pictures. I can show you if you like, but you’ve probably already seen our statements.”

He nodded, resting the tip of the glass against his chin.

“Kita had already apologized, publicly and privately, for releasing them. He said it was a moment of weakness. He was just confused about his feelings. He was jealous of you, and things with Aran were rocky. Well, as far as I know, they’re over. For now, anyway.”

He nodded again. Placed the glass of water on the counter, feeling restless.

“I wasn’t going behind your back. I’d never do that. And I’m _not_ still in love with fucking Kita. Whatever residual feelings I still had for him were gone the moment I saw you in that stupid interview.”

He kept silent.

In a soft voice, Atsumu said, “You didn’t even let me explain. You just shut me out.”

In an equally soft voice, he replied, “You shut me out first.”

Atsumu was quiet for a while. Then he said, “I know. And I’m very sorry for that. But I never meant to...I never meant to push you away until we break. I just needed some space to _think_.”

“Was I too much? Or not enough?” It was always one of the two.

“ _Neither_. You were perfect. You were so perfect it was unreal and I was crazy in love with you and I _panicked_. I thought maybe Kita was right, he said something, during the party — he could still get in my _head_ , fuck, I’m sorry. But I started thinking maybe I _am_ too young, because I had my whole life ahead of me but everything with you was so serious, and I’m only 26 but I was already thinking of — of — a wedding, in a castle, and puppies, and a parrot, and what kind of house would fit us, if you’d be okay with living in a mansion because I want one and — and I _freaked out_ , Omi.” His voice lowered down to a mutter. “Especially because I don’t even know if _you_ felt that way about me.”

“Why wouldn’t I have felt the same way about you? I told you I was in this from the very beginning.”

Atsumu looked away and ran a hand over his hair. He shifted his weight, as if he wasn’t quite sure about what to say. “You're just so...sometimes you do things like you're just going through the motions. You pick me up and take me to dinner because you think that's what a good boyfriend does. You buy me things, you give me gifts, and yeah sure, that's nice. I get it, you're the perfect boyfriend. But sometimes I wish…”

His throat was suddenly tight. “What?”

“That you'd just pay attention to me, maybe? Send me a text every once in a while so I know you remember me? Or just — talk to me and open the hell up. I don't give a shit about the — the dangers of fast fashion, or stock market trends, or whatever the hell it is that's got you preoccupied every other day. I don't even know your sisters' names, or what your childhood is like, or what you want to happen in the future, if you'll still be this way ten years from now, or what. I don't know, Omi. You know me, you studied me, and memorized me, but I don't know you.”

Kiyoomi was getting increasingly frustrated, because it didn’t make _sense_. “So you wanted all that, and you still pushed me away? Why would you leave me if you wanted to know me? What did you want to happen? You wanted me to chase you?”

“Well maybe I did!”

“Oh, grow up, Atsumu!” he finally snapped. “I have no time or patience for that kind of game. If you were expecting me to rise to the bait and feed the drama, you chose the wrong guy to mess around with. I told you from the start, my world can’t revolve around you.”

“I never asked for your world to revolve around me,” Atsumu said quietly. His eyes were brimming with tears. “I was just asking for a place in it. That’s all I’ve been wanting from the very start.”

“Well maybe there isn’t,” he said. “Space. In my life for you.”

Atsumu looked down. “I figured.”

He sighed, exhaustion crashing down on him. “You’ll find someone better, Atsumu. I’m not good for you. I’m not a good person.”

“Whatever, Omi,” Atsumu said, sounding just as exhausted. “I tried.”

He didn’t hear Atsumu’s footsteps as he walked away. His world has been plunged into silence. Just him and the winter cold. As usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again, Kita, I needed someone and you were there
> 
> The numbers on measles cases were totally invented. Oh but I actually did visit hospitals last year to interview patients with measles cause there was an outbreak. Can you believe last year, all we were worrying about was preventing an epidemic and now we're in the middle of a pandemic? Wild.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Off-screen minor character death, off-screen murders, LGBT discrimination

There was a saying that goes, ‘Bad things come in threes.’

That was one that Kiyoomi never believed in, because due to the nature of his job, he knew bad things came every day. Bad things came every single hour of every single day in every single corner of the world. He had learned not to let it get to him. Most of the time it flutters past him harmlessly. Sometimes it grazes him. 

But every once in a while, the bad thing turned out to be something so horrible that it shakes him, and the entire network — the entire _world_ — awake.

The first one, of course, was his breakup with Atsumu. It hasn’t gotten out to the public yet, but it caused an internal shitstorm that he didn’t know what to do with.

But he continued his days as he would any other time. He went to work 6 a.m. to 3 p.m. on weekdays and 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. on weekends. He was on his feet most of the week, so he was too busy to think about it anyway. He continued to cover the Prime Minister and whatever general news assignment they gave him. And on weekends, he continued to anchor the evening program.

The second bad thing came one Saturday evening: they learned that documentarist and veterinarian Nekomata Yasufumi had died.

He was such a prominent personality on television that it was difficult for all of them in the studio to wrap their minds around his loss. HQ News had tapped him as a resource person countless times — they had patched him up on phone interviews, tapped him to guest as an expert in newscasts, featured him on documentaries about animals. Nekomata was well-loved by the public for his nature show, but he was a personal friend to the people in HQ News.

Kiyoomi had met him numerous times in his nine years of working in the network. Nekomata had once rested a gnarled hand on his shoulder and said, “I don’t know how you do it, but thank you for your service.”

“How do _you_ do it?” Kiyoomi asked. He knew Nekomata had been bitten and clawed at by the animals he’d attempted to rescue, but he kept doing it anyway. He’d done it for most of his life.

Nekomata had smiled at him and said, “Next time I see you, I’ll tell you. I have to think about it first, because I feel like this is something you’ll remember for the rest of your life, so I better make it worth it.”

Composed as always, Daichi broke the news during a flash report midway through the newscast. From where he was sitting, Kiyoomi saw Yaku run as fast as his legs could carry him out of the studio, hissing at his phone.

He, Suga, and Daichi continued to anchor the program amid the undeniable tension and panic in the air. People slipped in and out of the studio, talking urgently and waving papers around. Piecing together an obituary, no doubt.

Finally, when the show was about to come to an end, Yaku pointed right at him and then at the teleprompter. The tribute was ready. He braced himself, opened his mouth, and let the words flow.

He didn’t let it sink in at first — words like “irreplaceable service” and “good man” left his mouth, but as he was nearing the end, he felt like there was more he had to say.

After a noticeable hesitation, he braced himself and looked straight at the camera. Then he did something he rarely ever did — he went off-script.

“The world today lost one of its brightest and kindest heroes, and for all of us here at HQ News, we lost a friend and colleague. I once asked Nekomata how he kept doing what he kept doing — saving the world and making it a better place. He did not answer me that day because he said that if I were going to remember his answer for the rest of my life, then he better make it worth it. But he did eventually give me the answer the next time we crossed paths, which turned out to be the last time I’d ever see him. And so I feel obligated to share his words. He said —” Kiyoomi had to pause, voice wavering, suddenly overcome. He bowed his head for an entire five seconds. He counted.

When the lump in his throat had been dislodged, he picked his head back up again and continued. “He said — ‘You do the hard thing and the painful thing, because it’s the _right_ thing to save a life.’ To Nekomata, there was nothing more precious than a life — be it a bird with broken wings, or a dog that has only known pain. And I am certain that _his_ life was one that was well-lived, because he saved them all. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

They solemnly wrapped up the newscast, and Suga leaned in to put an arm around him. Daichi stood up to pat him on the back, and they all ended up in a group hug. Kiyoomi felt strangely fragile.

This was simply too soon. He was still reeling from losing Atsumu. He felt like he was slowly getting unraveled.

But apparently, it was possible for things to get even worse. Not even a week later, a transgender woman was found dead at a love hotel.

In all honesty, this was the kind of thing that was supposed to just graze Kiyoomi. People were murdered all the time. And as fucked up as it might be, transgender people were the victims a lot of those times.

Did it really have to happen on a Saturday again?

During that night’s program, Kiyoomi had to deal with interviewing a lawyer that was connected to their line via phone patch. It should have been nothing; he did this often. But it was increasingly obvious that the lawyer had personal feelings about the issue and it bled into his tone and his words.

Kiyoomi got increasingly worked up, until he could no longer take it and interrupted. “Sir — sir, I will have to correct you at this point. The victim was a transgender woman who went by the name Yua, I believe that’s what you’re supposed to refer to her as,” he said, stressing the ‘ _her_.’

But the resource person said, “The name on the birth certificate is Hideo, I will call him by his real name.”

“For your information, that is what we call deadnaming — worse, it is intentional, and I believe we have no room for that kind of discrimination in this day and age.”

“Is HQ News accusing me of discrimination?”

“HQ News is doing no such thing. I, however, am.”

Daichi sucked in a slow breath beside him. Yaku and the floor director were whispering at each other urgently, probably arguing whether to cut the line.

He ignored them. He was suddenly alive and furious for the first time in a very long time.

“I thought newsmen were supposed to remain unbiased, to be subjected to this —”

“With all due respect, sir, a woman has just been brutally murdered. This is not about you. Had we known that we were interviewing a transphobe, we would not have put you on the line. Have a good night, sir.” He gestured sharply at Yaku, and the call was cut.

Amid the shocked silence in the studio, he briefly glanced at the teleprompter and said, “In other news, four people are dead following a fire in Shizuoka…”

And the show went on.

\--

He stormed his way into the dressing room, tailed by a handful of people set on screaming at him.

“What the hell was that?” Yaku demanded when he finally stopped and started removing the blazer. It wasn’t his — TV reporters got clothing allowance, but anchors got sponsored clothes. “You know better than to lose your temper like that!”

He ignored him and started removing the tie.

“I agree with you, I do,” Suga said. “But did you have to do it on air?”

“That was extremely unprofessional,” Daichi said severely. “It’s times like this I’m reminded you’re still a scrub.”

The words hit deep. To be told by a veteran broadcaster whom he looked up to that he was a scrub? That one was personal. It added to the storm of emotions swirling inside him. But he couldn’t do anything but continue changing into his own clothes. He just wanted to go home and sleep the whole thing off.

And then Yaku handed him a phone. In a dark voice, he said, “It’s Meian.”

He smoothed down his sweater, braced himself, and took the phone. He placed it to his ear and said, “Meian. I’m not sorry.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “What am I going to do with you, Sakusa?”

He swallowed and glared at the clothes rack.

“Is this about Miya?”

“Why the hell would it be about him?” he snapped, getting angrier.

“You’ve been a ticking time bomb since that whole thing with Kita. You were still productive, so we thought it was going to be fine, but —” Another sigh. “We should have seen something like this was going to happen.”

“I’m more professional than that,” he said stiffly. “That resource person was wrong.”

“He was,” Meian agreed. “I _agree_. But you are not, in any case _whatsoever_ , supposed to call a resource person a _transphobe on live television_. Damn it, Sakusa, you’re not the only one getting in trouble for this, you know? We’re a system. Yaku is getting in trouble. _I’m_ getting in trouble. And the researcher who booked that interview will get in trouble. The public was witness to that. There _will_ be judgment. You can’t just _do this kind of thing_. You’re one of the faces of a big broadcasting company, you represent us — you don’t work alone, damn it!”

He shut his eyes. It was all true. But back there, his sight narrowed down to tunnel vision.

They were right. He lost his cool, something he was never, ever supposed to do. Whether he was right or wrong.

“Stay there,” Meian said tiredly. “I’m on my way. The higher-ups have been calling, and so has HR.”

He ended up on Inunaki’s desk chair, staring at a wall with his arms crossed. Only Yaku was with him now and displeasure was emanating from his small form.

Finally, Meian entered, trailed by Inunaki. Oh God.

“What in the actual hell?” Inunaki looked more surprised than anything. “Did I really watch that crap?”

“Alright, I think he knows where he went wrong,” Meian cut in. “Sakusa, you’ve made many professional mistakes over the years, and you’ve learned from them, but at this point in your career, we expected you to handle that better. Now, I’ve talked to the higher-ups — they don’t want to be too severe, but our policies mandate us to serve punishment.”

Meian massaged his forehead. “Two-week suspension. Unpaid, of course. When HR comes back in on Monday, they’ll deal with the paperwork, but don’t bother coming to work tomorrow.”

He swallowed and nodded.

Meian softened his voice. “You’ve had a hard time of it lately. Think of it as an intervention. I think you need a break. You never learned to take breaks.”

Inunaki said, “You can’t just bottle everything up and think it isn’t going to explode on your face.”

“What about me?” Yaku asked.

“Right, sorry Yakkun — five-day suspension for you.”

“Ah, well,” Yaku sighed. “I think I need a break, too, anyway.”

He forced himself to say, “Sorry, Yaku.”

“Pull yourself back together, that’s how you can make it up to me. Now get going, scrub. Let’s all go the fuck home.”

“You guys go,” Meian said. “Inunaki and I have to discuss how to manage without you two for the coming week. Go on.”

Great. He got Yaku suspended _and_ dragged Meian and Inunaki from their day-off to deal with his mess.

What was wrong with him? 

Tail behind his legs, he turned and left. This entire November was turning out to be the worst in history.

Perhaps bad things did come in threes, but for Kiyoomi, it just felt like one endless bad day.

\--

During the slow walk home, he was lost in thought.

He didn’t think he’d be burned out at the age of 31.

No, he expected it to happen much, much earlier. The things he’d seen, the things he’d learned — it tended to weigh on people in the industry. Many snap under the pressure. Many get disillusioned. He’d been proud of himself for managing to compartmentalize. For holding on as long as he could.

The thing with news is that there’s no room for sugarcoating. There’s no such thing as romanticization. The real world _is_ unforgiving, and that’s a lesson he’s been learning every _single day_ of his life since he was 22. Pay enough attention to the details and you’ll soon realize there was no hope at all. There was no point. Life really is a bitch, and then you die. That’s it.

But every once in a while a shooting star comes streaking out of nowhere. And it brightens your world for a second, reminding you that there were still good things, beautiful things in this universe that were worth living for.

He’s forgotten just how dark the night could be until Miya Atsumu was gone, taking all his light with him. And it was only when the night was at its darkest that he realized how much he’d give to have that light again. Maybe he should have worked harder to hold on it, instead of letting it fade. Instead of pushing it away.

He longed for him now more than ever before.

\--

But then, when he finally managed to drag his body to his apartment, Atsumu was there.

He stopped in the hallway, barely breathing.

Atsumu stood up from where he’d been sitting on the ground with his back against the door, and for a moment they just looked at each other.

And then Kiyoomi took a step, and then another.

“Omi —”

Kiyoomi dropped his bag on the floor and dragged Atsumu into his arms. He clutched at his back and buried his face on Atsumu’s shoulder. He inhaled; Atsumu smelled like that expensive perfume he liked and Kiyoomi hated. He’ll take it.

Right then, Kiyoomi didn’t care about how Atsumu hurt him. He didn’t care about how he hurt Atsumu. All he knew was that he’d been wanting to go home, and now, he was.

And when Atsumu finally raised his arms to hold him back, whispering “Omi-Omi,” he let himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, it was just a second


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I am posting the rest of it, enjoy!

He woke up to sunlight warming his face and Atsumu’s quietly angry voice.

“...said cancel all my appointments, I’m not going to any of them.”

He blinked his way to full consciousness, his mind providing everything that had happened the night before. Right. He fucked up. Kiyoomi did not always fuck up, but when he did, he did it big time.

“...needs me right now. No, I will _not_ distance myself from this scandal, I don’t give a fuck. _Goodbye_ , Tsukki.”

And then a strong arm wrapped around his waist and a warm body tucked itself behind him. He vaguely remembered that this was how they fell asleep.

“Are you awake?”

He answered by turning and wrapping his own arms around Atsumu. He nuzzled his way onto his chest, wondering how they could slip back into old comfort so easily, when all the things that were wrong between them still hung in the air.

A hand smoothed down Kiyoomi’s curls. “I ordered food. I declare that today is cheat day. And no one is leaving here, you can try to send me away, but I won’t go, okay?”

He tightened his arms around Atsumu, silently saying, _don’t go._

Atsumu dropped a kiss on his forehead. “God, I’ve missed you so much. I hate you so much. I don’t care if I have to shake sense into you, I’ll do it. But later.”

They stayed like that until the doorbell rang. Atsumu went to get the food, and Kiyoomi dragged himself to the bathroom. He was still in the clothes he was wearing last night. Gross. At least Atsumu had managed to coax Kiyoomi into switching his contacts for glasses last night, so his eyes were safe.

After a cold shower, he went to the kitchen to find that Atsumu had already set up their meals.

For a while, they simply ate in silence. And then Atsumu said, “You’re stupid if you thought I’d just leave it like that. You’ve severely underestimated my own dedication for the things I love and want.”

With difficulty, he raised his eyes to meet Atsumu’s flinty ones.

“It took all these shitty things to happen before you let yourself admit that you need me, and that’s fine. I always knew you were a tough cookie to crack. You’re about to find out that I’m pretty hard-headed myself. You stupid idiot. Eat your food.”

Meekly, he obeyed. He didn’t even remember the last time he ate.

After their meal, Atsumu brushed off his attempts to clean up. “Go back to bed.”

He did. He curled up in the sheets and waited for Atsumu. His brain was quiet. Perhaps it was best he stopped thinking for a while. It didn’t seem to do him any good.

The bed dipped when Atsumu climbed on it and he mindlessly reached out. Atsumu came willingly and curled himself against him, and he didn’t deserve this, he really didn’t. But what was he supposed to say?

“I’m sorry, Tsumu.” That was a good place to start, wasn’t it?

“You better be.” Atsumu framed his face with his soft, strong hands. Thumbed at his eyebrows and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry about Nekomata. I didn’t know you knew him.”

He nodded sadly, feeling a pang. “I talked to him sometimes. He was...kind. I looked up to him.”

“What about the thing last night?”

“I’m suspended,” he mumbled. “For two weeks.”

“What?” Atsumu demanded. “But he deserved it. He was being a fucking bigot.”

“I still wasn’t supposed to call him a transphobe.”

Atsumu paused. “Right.” Then, amazingly, he started laughing. “You called a lawyer a transphobe on air, Omi! I can’t believe it.”

Kiyoomi’s brows furrowed into a scowl. A thumb smoothed them down.

“You’re so dumb, Omi-Omi. Why can’t you just let me love you?”

And there it was. He answered honestly, “I don’t know why you would want to.”

Atsumu adjusted his grip on Kiyoomi’s face, so he had no choice but to look at him. Atsumu was studying him. He hummed. “You know, I don’t know why either. My friends have been trying to knock some sense into me from the very start. ‘Cause I wouldn’t stop talking about you, but you were just ignoring all my efforts. And I’d watch your reports and I’d realize you weren’t thinking about me at all. But then you came to the premiere night and you just...knocked me dead. I was gone for you, just like that. And they kept trying to pull me away because from their perspective, it was pretty shitty. You were busy, and older, and settled, and had different priorities, and they kept telling me I should find someone better who’ll always put me first. We’re celebrities, you know, we’re used to feeling like the center of the universe. Being in a relationship with you, and realizing I can never be as important as — everything else — I won’t lie, it was upsetting at first. But seeing what you really do, I understand. I accept it. I wouldn’t want it, or you, any other way. And I don’t want to be with anyone else. I choose you. As long as you choose me, too.”

Heart aching, Kiyoomi reached out and touched Atsumu’s cheek gently. Reverently. His mind turned over the words and he forced himself to say, “They’re right. You do deserve better.” He frowned and tried to find the words that could make Atsumu understand. “Atsumu...you have a lifetime of adventure ahead of you. And I’m just...stuck here. I’m good here. I’m just...some guy. My job isn’t glamorous, it’s just thankless work. I barely do anything else. You’ll get bored of me, you’ll feel neglected, I won’t be able to keep up with you, and we’ll just go back to square one.”

“Yes,” Atsumu said slowly. “And we get to do it all again. We’ll fall out of love and then we’ll fall in love again. For all of eternity.”

Kiyoomi stared at him.

Atsumu looped an arm around his neck and nuzzled at the curve of his neck. “Did you forget already? How in love we were? I know time passes weird for you, but it’s only been a few months, damn. I’m still so in love with you. What did you feed me?”

He thought of that trip to Yokohama, where Atsumu dragged him ice skating outdoors. He never learned how to skate, and he fell more often than not. Atsumu spent the day laughing at him instead of helping him, but he remembered thinking, _he’s beautiful_ . He thought of Atsumu stroking his hair while he kept his eyes squeezed shut because of a migraine and Atsumu murmuring, _maybe if you give your eyes a rest every once in a while, this wouldn’t happen_. He thought of dinner dates, and afternoons spent in bed, and kisses — so many kisses — and he wondered how his mind can so easily forget the good parts.

He thought of shooting stars and galaxies far, far away, and how he always felt like he was floating in space, content to just watch everything happen. Like a satellite. It seemed impossible for him to reach Atsumu across the years between them, across the time they didn’t always have, across the endless, endless space. And it seemed even more impossible for him to keep Atsumu when he didn’t have his own gravitational pull.

He thought maybe he didn’t need to try so hard. Atsumu crashed into his life and there he’ll stay. Of his own free will.

He wrapped his arms around Atsumu and pressed his tear-stained face into his hair. “I’m so in love with you, too, Atsumu.”

Atsumu pressed a kiss to his neck. “Don’t forget again. I don’t ever wanna see you give up on us again.”

He sniffled. “Okay.”

“And I have to tell you that I can be emotional and moody and petty but you’re going to have to suck it up and accept it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not kidding, Omi. I can be a brat.”

“I know. The biggest brat.”

“Sometimes I’ll bitch out and ignore you and throw tantrums. And you’re not allowed to break up with me over that. You’re not even allowed to be mad about that.”

“Now that last part is just impossible.”

Atsumu laughed. Then he reached up and kissed Kiyoomi, their lips meeting each other like old lovers. They crashed against each other again and again, until they were both swept away by the current.

They cried as they made love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you thought you were the boss but apparently you're just babie


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE TWITTER POSTS YAY

Much later, he finally picked up his phone and checked his messages and notifications.

Administratively, he was let off easy.

The true punishment was the online controversy he’d apparently started.

The clip of his interview had gone viral and his name was being dragged left and right. Those who already hated him because of his relationship with Atsumu — fueled by those upset over the discontinued relationship with Kita — took relish in laughing at him for “snapping” and “losing it.” And those who had more conservative views were frowning at him for being “biased” and “unprofessional.” The lawyer kept threatening to file lawsuits against him, but for what, he didn’t know. He didn’t think he did anything punishable by law. Reading the offended tweets just made him roll his eyes.

But he was heartened to realize most of social media was actually backing and praising him. He had to give credit to the youth — they saw injustice and wanted to change it, nevermind that they were tonedeaf a lot of the time. He appreciated that they were engaged in current issues.

And then he paused in his scrolling and raised an eyebrow. He ran his hand down Atsumu’s naked back. “Why are you fighting people on Twitter?”

“Because they’re idiots,” Atsumu slurred against his neck. “Stop checking your phone.”

He kept scrolling. Even Atsumu’s friends were defending him, saying that his statements were not biased opinions, they were fact. “It’s 2019, people, grow up and chill out,” Suna said, while Bokuto said, “Transphobia is so not cool.”

Amid the internet’s anger, HQ News was forced to release a statement confirming that yes, Sakusa Kiyoomi was indeed penalized with a suspension, but they were looking to having him back in two weeks. And that seemed to be fueling the debate further.

Staring at the mess he made, he said, “Tsumu, what do you say to going away on a trip with me?”

Atsumu lifted his face and stared at him.

“I _am_ suspended for two weeks,” he reminded him. The suspension would be lifted on a Monday and that was still his day-off. They had a lot of time. “Anywhere in the world you wanna go? My treat.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere that won’t require a visa.” Their Japanese passports gave them a lot of countries to work with.

Atsumu smiled slowly.

\--

Three days later, they were in Athens. They had quickly (and not very thoroughly) planned a 12-day trip to Europe, with Atsumu simply texting Tsukishima to cancel or postpone all his shoots and fittings and interviews for the next two weeks. They barely packed enough clothes. The good news was that November was off-season so everything was cheaper. And they got good accommodations on sale because it was so last minute.

“Omi-Omi, you have to take nice pictures of me,” Atsumu demanded, dragging him by the hand. They were approaching the Parthenon. “You have to be a good Instagram boyfriend for this entire trip, or so help me —”

“I’m too old for this,” Kiyoomi muttered.

“You’re only 31, cut the crap, stop acting like you have one foot on the grave. You’re so ridiculous sometimes, I swear.”

He laughed at the irritation in Atsumu’s voice.

“Oh, and I’m confiscating your phone. No checking emails, no checking social media.”

“ _You’re_ on social media.”

“Well, I have to post our pictures, Omi! Speaking of, stand over there.”

“Why just me,” he complained. But he obeyed.

“I have something in mind, now hush. Look over there, tilt your head slightly this way…”

**Miya Atsumu** @miyaatsumu

I FOUND THE PLACE WHERE @sakusakiyoomi BELONGS AND IT’S HERE IN GREECE

[Photo: Kiyoomi stood in front of the Parthenon, looking at something far away, showing his sculpted profile.]

**Miya Atsumu** @miyaatsumu

AND ANOTHER ONE

[Photo: Kiyoomi was walking past a statue in the Acropolis Museum, head turned to the camera like he’d just been called.]

> **sunarintarou** Wait what, you’re in GREECE? REPLY TO US, DAMMIT

\--

Atsumu pressed kisses all over his face, making sure to press two every time he passed the moles on his forehead.

Kiyoomi shifted on the bed and tried to tug him down.

“I’m busy,” Atsumu said. Then pressed a kiss to his nose. “Did you have fun today, Omi-Omi?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Life’s not so bad, huh? I know it can get dark sometimes, but it passes.”

He nodded.

“And I know the weight of the world can get heavy, but you don’t have to bear it alone, okay?”

He turned his head to look at Atsumu and touched his cheek. “Not anymore, I don’t. Stay with me?”

“You’ll never get rid of me. I still want that mansion.”

“Fine, but no parrots.”

“I’ll get my parrots, too. I’ll get everything. You’ll see.”

Kiyoomi smiled, amused. This is what he gets for having the audacity to fall in love with a star.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

\--

 **Miya Atsumu** @miyaatsumu

Even heroes need to rest sometimes.

[Photo: Atsumu was hugging Kiyoomi by the waist, grinning at the camera. Kiyoomi was kissing his forehead.]

> **bokutokoutarou** wait are you in italy

**Sakusa Kiyoomi** @sakusakiyoomi

To the one person I come running home to after a bad day, here’s the world. You chase away my darkness with the brightest flame.

[Photo: They were on top of the Eiffel Tower, lips locked in a kiss.]

> **sunarintarou** AND NOW YOU’RE IN PARIS?

**Oikawa Tooru** @oikawatooru

Oh how I wish my friends @sakusakiyoomi and @miyaatsumu would remember my existence AND REPLY TO MY MESSAGES

> **miyaatsumu** @oikawatooru sorry neither of us can come to the phone right now, we’re too busy having the time of our lives
> 
> **oikawatooru** @miyaatsumu YOU ARE LITERALLY POSTING PICTURES EVERY FEW HOURS ASHDGDSGA I JUST WANT SOME DETAILS FOR MY REPORT COME ON
> 
> **miyaatsumu** @oikawatooru omi says we can’t hear you

\--

The days passed by in a dreamy haze.

Both of them have been to Europe before, but mostly for work. They took their time exploring Athens, and then Venice, and then Paris. Kiyoomi learned to take “Instagrammable pics” of Atsumu, and Atsumu indulged him when he wanted to visit museums even though “they’re boring, Omi.”

Kiyoomi thought there was no better way to truly learn about a person than when you’re traveling together. There were the unglamorous bits, and the messy bits, and the jetlagged bits, and the ‘I’m lacking sleep and my feet hurt from walking the whole day’ bits. Atsumu pouted and threw exhaustion-induced tantrums. Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose and flatly rejected food and ideas and destinations. They rolled their eyes at each other’s ridiculousness. And then they linked hands and did it all over again. Three countries. Twelve days.

Hours were spent just strolling down beautiful streets hand in hand. During those times, Atsumu demanded to hear every thought that entered Kiyoomi’s head, and made him tell stories from his childhood, and stories about newsroom shenanigans — “not the actual news, Omi, I want to hear more about Inunaki losing his shit.”

At some point Kiyoomi even stopped wearing his contact lenses completely, trading them for his glasses. Atsumu loved it. He wrapped his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist. “You’re so much softer this way. So much more in my reach.”

“You’re the one who’s out of my reach.”

“Are you kidding? You’re like, way up there. You’re a heavenly body and I’m a piece of sand. I used to think you’d get bored of me one day. When you realize I’m not really that great.”

Kiyoomi paused. That sounded like his own line of thinking. “You never have to worry about that with me. That’s not how I work.”

“It’s not how I work either.”

“Then I guess we’re stuck together.”

“Good.” Atsumu nosed at his cheek and whispered, “Love you. Wanna be with you. Have a little more faith in me. I’ll see us through.”

Kiyoomi palmed the back of Atsumu’s head and dressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “I always underestimate you,” he murmured. “Punch me the next time I do.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

He smiled and vowed, “I’ll be better.”

It wasn’t too late to learn how to love, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* cause maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me...


	12. Five Months Later

The camera flashes blinded him when he stepped out of limo. Atsumu had rented it for the night, saying that Kiyoomi couldn’t get away with just driving them there.

Because this time, he was going as his date.

They held hands as they walked down the red carpet, and it turned out Kiyoomi’s own experience as a member of the press was enough to soften him into indulging as many photographers and interviews as possible. Beside him, Atsumu was very obviously amused. Even though Kiyoomi made him do most of the talking.

When they reached the spot where HQ News was stationed, Kiyoomi rolled his eyes at Oikawa.

“Let’s skip this one,” he said.

“Mean, Kiyo-chan! Get over here!”

He put a hand on Atsumu’s waist and guided him forward, nodding at Komori, who was hiding behind Oikawa, and their cameramen.

“How are you tonight, Atsumu-kun?” Oikawa asked conversationally.

“Great. Happy. It’s an honor to be nominated, I can’t quite wrap my head around that yet,” Atsumu said.

“You’ll win,” Kiyoomi said.

“I don’t want to think about that possibility, my head will explode. I’m happy just being here.”

“What about you, Kiyo-chan?” Oikawa asked. “What’s it like being on the other side?’

“Strange and disorienting, honestly. Not sure I like it. I’m used to being in front of the camera, but not this way.”

“You better get used to it, you’re dating a star.’

Kiyoomi sighed. “I know.”

“Well, how do you feel about —”

“Alright, that’s enough questions for me, give me that.” Kiyoomi reached over and stole the mic. He raised the microphone to his lips and looked at the camera. “We are here tonight at the 43rd Japan Academy Awards in Tokyo, and beside me here is Miya Atsumu, nominated best actor for his performance in ‘Spiral.’ My colleague is apparently bad at his job —”

“Hey!” Oikawa laughed.

“So I’m taking over. How are you feeling, love?” He pointed the mic to Atsumu’s mouth.

“Well, now I’m just having fun thanks to you.”

“Good, you’ve been tense. Why don’t you tell them about the moment you found out you were nominated?”

“I obviously freaked out. I screamed, and I accidentally elbowed this one awake,” he laughed, nudging Kiyoomi. “When I joined the cast I was just happy to be in my first film ever, and now I’m nominated for an award. I really owe it all to Ennoshita-san who, for some reason, believed in me.”

Oikawa wrestled the mic from Kiyoomi and said, “That’s cute, that’s cute. Tell me more about that!”

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him.

Komori asked, “Atsumu, what’s it like to be in a relationship with this big block of ice?”

Oikawa snorted. “Yeah, Tsumu-kun, you’ve been together for quite some time now, huh?”

Smiling happily, Atsumu said, “Yes, eight months. Not that long at all, not nearly enough. I mean there was a point back there where we were kinda off but we’re smooth-sailing now. I know he seems really serious and cold, but he’s a softie, really, and he’s super sweet and thoughtful. He’s the best, I feel really lucky. I’d be stupid to ever let him go.”

Kiyoomi was feeling warm again. He curled his arm around Atsumu’s waist and pulled him closer. He ignored the way Komori gagged.

“What about you, Kiyo-chan, what’s it like to be in a relationship with a supermodel-slash-superstar? You just got back from the Paris Fashion Week, you must tell me about that!”

“Yes, I did go,” Kiyoomi said slowly. “That was — illuminating.”

Atsumu laughed. “You should have seen his face. He just looked so lost. I mean, he already watched my shoots and attended events with me before, but fashion weeks are really the peak of it all, you know? It’s wild and chaotic. I think it was a bucket of ice water to his face, like, this is it, this is my reality.”

Kiyoomi added, “I just followed him around and watched from the sidelines and he was always being chased by makeup artists and stylists and cameras. I did not know that one can change clothes and looks that many times in a day. And people were just sending him — _things_. And gifts. And guess who had to carry all of them.”

“How cute, boyfriend duties,” Oikawa teased.

“He was good at it,” Atsumu said loyally. “I told him it was his turn to sit still and look pretty and that’s what he did. It was his turn as the trophy boyfriend, I was literally showing him off and introducing him to designers like, ‘This my boyfriend! He’s a broadcast journalist back home in Japan,’ and they’d look at him and go ‘Oooh.’ It was fun. And he got me a burger when it was all over. And we roamed the parts of Paris we didn’t get to see before.” 

“That does sound fun,” Oikawa said. “Was it an adjustment for you, Kiyo-chan?”

“Was it ever,” he said. “Everything about Atsumu was an adjustment to me.”

“How so?” It was Atsumu who asked the question.

Kiyoomi slid him a glance and tried to word what it was like living with Atsumu the past three months. He had moved into Kiyoomi’s apartment in January.

“Well, as you know, I was already set in my ways. But he came into my life, so everything changed. He himself was ever-changing, and so _random_ — he’d learn to bake just so he could make a specific dessert, and he’d say ‘I can totally be a pastry chef.’ And one day he’d be listening to Bach, and the next he’d be checking out indie artists, because he likes doing comparisons between classical and contemporary music. I know so much about dead composers now. And watching him always made me realize that there was always room to learn and grow, even after all these years. I mean, I’m 31 — sorry, 32 now — and he's correcting bad habits I didn’t pay attention to before. No more falling asleep on my desk with my contacts on. No more eating late dinner standing around in the kitchen in my suit. And he’s making me do all these new things — he’s teaching me to play _piano_. He made me _buy one_. He’s a pain, but he’s really something. He’s ruining my life, but he’s also making it so much better. He told me when we first met that he wanted to be a shooting star, but in my universe, he’s now the sun.”

It was only when he stopped in his musings that he realized Komori and Oikawa were sniffling, and Atsumu was wiping tears from his cheeks.

Alarmed, he said, “Why are you all crying?”

Lightly sobbing, Atsumu said, “You’re so bad at the piano, Omi-Omi. But it’s okay, we’ll practice.”

“Your stylist will get mad if she sees your eyes swollen, stop that.”

“I didn’t sign up for these feelings,” Oikawa said in a wobbly voice. “I’m so happy for the two of you.”

Kiyoomi looked at him strangely. “You’re weirding me out. We’re leaving now.”

“Yes, run along now, children. Premiere is starting soon.”

Atsumu patted his face dry, and said, “Later, Tooru-chan, Toya-chan.”

As they left, they heard Komori asking the cameramen, “Did you get a close-up shot of Atsumu crying?”

When they got inside, free from the cameras, Atsumu grabbed his face and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You changed my life, too. You’re the only thing that makes sense sometimes.”

Kiyoomi just kissed him again and again until Suna’s voice said, “It’s too early for that, lovebirds, let’s go inside.”

They parted to see Suna and Osamu strolling by, hand in hand. They had recently gone public about their relationship and it was rather well-received.

And then Bokuto barrelled into them out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Kiyoomi and leading them inside. “Let’s go, Omi-san! Tsum-Tsum will definitely win tonight!”

Naturally, Atsumu did. After all, he did promise he’d get everything.

But as Atsumu smiled at him from where he was glowing under stage lights, Kiyoomi thought he won everything, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're gross

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Omi is older, he is 30 here, while Atsumu is 24. To the person who sent me the journalist Sakusa + model Atsumu prompt in curiouscat, would you like to show yourself?! I am looking for thee.
> 
> Characters on the newsroom side are based on real people (friends and colleagues from TV news) while Atsumu is based on actual celebrities (Sean O'Pry, Cara Delevingne, and even a dash of Heart Evangelista).
> 
> This fic is done, but I'm still in a love-hate relationship with the rest of it. I will update every few days, though. Get updates on my Twitter (@lettersinpetals)! -Summer


End file.
